Jenna-Nichole Conrad Poet Free verse

How Lovely

How lovely, isn't
It, to have an 'off' switch, shotty wiring
And all,
And a presence lined up to ****?

They are always there
To cauterize the wounds of emotional castration
Without desire to examine
The blood pattern forensics,
Chalking the splatter up
To an affinity towards Jackson Polluck. 

Tears are to the meek
As injury is to the bold,
Chastity is to pureness
As promiscuity is to curiosity.
And what
Supplemented activity relates to the character
Defect of an over-eager search for validation?

How surreal a menagerie constructed from
Syringes full of sunshine.
Currency crusted by blood in place of worth,
Hopeful scribbles of the pale and placid carrying
Small flecks of over packed bags under the eye
Can seem when sunlight filters through rose colored lenses;
How frighteningly apparent
Connect-the-dot freckles and
Spasms of the left cheek and 
Teddy bear smiles and
Xylophone ribs and
Bits of skin ghosted from lips become
When refracted by a Narcissus pond—

How I m p o r t a n t,

How appropriate these sentiments:
Perfect companions for the rolled-up-carpet's journey
Of finding permanence along river bottom
Set into the silt and framed with waving algae:

A'voir, piggyback consistencies,
Meet oblivion in shreds
Blown out the back end of the skull
In the instant chapped lip worshiper meets collarbone shrine.

Such ready to leech services are no longer
A necessity
In the four hours of chemically enhanced rawness
Stuffed with bile and bruise and suck and lie
Hollowed of meaning,
Save for the proverbial cholesterol of hope clogged in pores.

But I awake in numbness,
Cold and invalid,
With my head pressed on Doubt's chest
And my fingers knotting in its own
Begging to be warm again.

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