The King of All Possible Tomorrows
The disembodied fuses of the morning
Lie discarded like the aftermath of sex,
And splinter icy barbs against the windows,
As the wires split and fray and don’t connect.
There’s a bird that coughs monoxide on the pylon
And a dog that barks pneumonia on the grass,
In the distance drawls a baritone of thunder
Foretelling of the storms that come to pass.
Like the king who rules all possible tomorrows
I dice with love and sex and life and fate,
As she strips, her nylon sheaths become electric
And I sit and watch with wonder as I wait.
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
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
