I walk around with a tape
measure running out
of my mouth
my words are carefully
spilled over the tick marks
counted syllables flapping behind
my back, never a run-on
sentence uttered or I would
trip like a protagonist over
sweet ballads of self-image
dribbling across the yellow lines
dividing the road, untied
themselves from my lips to
wave banners from a moonlit
flagpole growing from the end
of my thoughts to stretch over
a scape only found in Apollo’s
back pocket
No comments:
Post a Comment