2014 #308

being bereft of a jetpack
a blastoff that jumps
from here to a city
sunk in decadence
must acquiesce to what is
which are feet and steps
descending from the stoop
and plop on the bench

where buses very rarely brake
and maybe Romanian
phantoms baring Turkish
tanned limbs will pretend
to materialize
and maybe one recently at the sea
will sweep her hair off her shoulders
and her sea-softened arm’s feather

brush will be all a scruffy
mongrel needs to remember
the real reason for cherishing
every breath and with a calm
smile can go ahead
and gun down the belief
of needing to flee
into fantasy

but this is already
drunk on the spirit
which taste is honestly
tepid but it’s cheap
and the most effective
surreal vehicle
available for a man
bereft of a jetpack


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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