Francis Brown Poet Narrative

I Don'T Know Where I'M Going With This One

Tides will lecture us, obtrusively, to our faces, 
& it's moments like these we unearth 
probity in outlooks and lookouts 
to crack the skulls of coconuts. some lives
have small windows, & we, like hounds, look 
out  & bayed full moons, through panes. & pain,
bringing the high to where the last line 
is breathed and we are plumbed. & this 
takes fix after fix, to cultivate depravities,
gifts & slumlords, spitting from penitentiaries
the rats & their humans. I saw a few.
This is the kind of stools we sit on
when there is more than blood in our veins
Sometimes guitars sing to us, but the lines ... 
are flat, shattered lives. In death,
there's no dreaming, just dumb sleep

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Desi Gall March 25, 2020 at 12:20 PM I like the "stream of consciousness" style of expressing yourself, it gives the reader an opportunity to ask many questions at the same time. Well done. Francis Brown March 30, 2020 at 6:33 PM Thanks for reading.