The Bulb

Edison bulb
Instine formula
calling bet’s 
to the last three
a crazy intense formula
with pimples wild


set up now golden age
it was like a deck of card’s
down to the last three
with a gofey pimple on top
what appears now 
what happens now
the last two heads 
now he says drink 
he wants you gone

YOU THOUGHT IT WAS SPRING
Copyright © | Year Posted 2023

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

Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.

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