Pine Needle Ashes In Reruns
Pine needle ashes in reruns
Each breath hurts,
in my chest and in my mind
Such a poor example of life,
this heaving flesh,
up and down, corrugated movements inside my shirt,
not even a consistent rhythm
You see it mirrors my heart (a broken metronome)
in silent convulsions
that no one sees
and I become the fool, the giggles from the back row,
that guy picking his nose in the car
thinking he is invisible,
like that cloud on the horizon
attempting to sneak past the sunset
without being noticed…bright florescent pink
But I have always been this fool,
I fall, I get up only to fall again…
you would think I would have learned by now
My fingers hurt as
they move about the keys
in interrupted design patterns
finding small lettered squares (shapes)
pushing up, harder than I push down,
but not because of the action…
it is the words, all of these words
thoughts, ideas, dreams, just as a
Christmas tree in a fireplace,
up in smoke…though slower, more painful…
pine needle ashes in reruns, always reruns
**Just a poem, not a state of mind. :)
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017
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