ROBERT WILSON :Sometimes We Never Evolve
ROBERT WILSON :Corona, No Lime
for your reading pleasure, verse
from new and established poets
poetry requires a mature audience,
if you are under 18 years of age, click here
Sometimes We Never Evolve
You constructed every instance of your life
with pink text on black backgrounds
and Fall Out Boy lyrics
spread across your Xanga page.
I developed a crush on your intelligence
and sarcastic wit,
dryer than my sadness was back then.
I gave you so much shit
for your emo style
and tendency to wear pink shoes
with bad logos on them
but I secretely found it adorable.
When we sat by your locker
and you told me how much
you wanted the system to wilt
in your tiny palms
I imagined your blue eyes swallowing me
and taking me to where the night sky
stretched around us
like a kind word,
where you bathed
in the tears of stars
while confessing you can finally love
as the bars of your ribcage bent
and set you free.
You've replaced that young rebel
with Trump campaign signs on your lawn
and the crying stars grew up
when you got married
and they realized that they couldn't weep
for your volition forever.
I'm still the love-sick teenager
posing as a misanthrope,
sometimes remembering how your blonde hair
always kissed your shoulders
You never had to budge from that
and neither did I
but on occasion
I'll remember how much I wanted to curl up
like a terrified snake
and sleep for years
inside the small gaps
of your elusive smile.
poetryrepairs #227 v16.08:086
Corona, No Lime
I've seen the scorpions crawl
over your teeth and lips
in a desperate attempt
to live anywhere else.
I wonder if you want them gone
or if you want them to stay within
your narcissistic dream.
Your body is a pre-programmed joke,
a mass of zeroes and ones
with the consistency of flesh:
beauty on the outside
(bordering on obsolescence)
with a million casualties of war
You so badly want everyone to believe
you have a halo watching over you
but it's really a circle of yellow jackets
starving for love
you can never give.
One day your veins
will free themselves from the prison
of your wrist
and wrap themselves
around the crescent moon,
dragging it down
and placing it at your feet
just for you
when you cut your own head off.
poetryrepairs #227 v16.08:086
Have a call for submissions? looking for publishers? it's FREE at SUBPRIMAL
thank you for reading poetryrepairs
please link to http://www.poetryrepairs.com/v16/086.html
All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge
even as it splits it open.
The Art of Reading
No state organ: POETRYREPAIRS
accepts NO money from federal,
state, or local governments.
READERS maintain poetryrepairs
NO READING FEE FOR SUBMISSIONS. DONATIONS, while appreciated, WILL NOT INCREASE CHANCES OF BEING SELECTED.
I have many things to write unto you but I will not write with pen and ink --JOHN the theologian
REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people
at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition. -- Oxford English Dictionary