The silkworm is not golden,
no winks snap the tremors
no carbines on the roast,
no moraine in the slam.
Then a buckeye
from an insane ATM-
falls over me.
And when I look across the
dark lantern,
nothing is not there
except for the mellow heathen pumping
blubber into my heaven.
I find the swollen stars
sleeping in underwear
deep in sleepless death.
***
Another poem for your enjoyment.... just wrote it tonight. Would love to know what you think about this poem. What does it mean to you? Let me know, let's start a conversation.
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