Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Poetry from Chaos

I have found that Chaos flings out the best little bits of odd poetry. The key is getting close enough to catch them without getting caught in the riptide.

Finders Keepers

Keep singing
keep playing
keep looking
right at me
not at me
into me
abandoned house

Broken shutters
battered siding
frame windows

Standing across
overgrown lot
only ghost
of a curtain
skeleton chair
crooked picture frame

Peering into
cobwebbed attic
of my soul

Picking through
dusty scraps
broken things
left behind

Spying sparkle
shiny thing
in some forgotten corner

Passing grin
across face
as though
already possessing

Lowering blinds
too late

Southern Martyr

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