Sunday, May 31, 2015

Drilling for Tetroleum

This poem escaped
in the instant
it took
for Id to fall
s
i
x
f
ee
t.

Knots unravel,
feet run aground.
The mind is exiled
outside water.

Off come the smiles
from the oily face
Urania eclipses
the guided missive.

You don't speak.
Nor do I.
You are busy knotting threads
Thinking that you knit.
To you, they are the same now.

You have tied yourself to me.
My caesars will not cut.