Clay Men

Clay Men
The clay man died. He's a member of the dead. He's in the van on the passenger seat, made of concrete. Morphs onto the driver's face. Hey, you're dead! What? He's talking normal. Put him in the concrete mixer. Mix him up. Moving like liquid mercury man. Barry from Brookside, crap actor. Now dead, clay man. Van driver to wear? False clothes.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Labyrinth Avatar
October 27, 2019 at 4:24 PM
I'm loving your form. I think you are onto something. Some of your stories need to be extended, because you've certainly hooked this reader.
Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace