PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Panic, panic

I need not race

in a feverish fury

an anytime, an anyplace, an anywhere

I cannot attain

Anxious, antsy

arriving at

that acid abscess in my chest

that break within my breath

Tick Tock Tick Tock

waiting for eleven o'clock



People wonder

is it natural

the red in my hair

did someone

somewhere put it there?

I want to be

the woman on the box

number sixty seven

she smiles

and I stare

Hollow I am

tufts and clumps of matted hair



Your roots are showing

keep them there

close your mouth

and close your eyes

let them leave you their goodbyes

An eidolon, an oversight

I am

silky smooth and wafer thin

under your thumb

under your tongue



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