Knowing the enemy
Takes the open sixth sense
Simmering, sugary
Taking over briefly
Killing all your spring dreams
I still laugh out loud
As one
Teasing your memories
Dying to fly through breeze
I drive on the tarmac
With nerves that hold still
Shaking star poetry
Bounce with cacophony
I take
Your clouds
And blow them to splits
Past the veins, physically
Darkened with ancestry
Business, only, strictly
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I write rhymes. I write checks.
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The following thoughts have filtered from a mind that has been oversaturated with images, screams, romance, text, and sounds since The Carter Administration. If you are not satisfied, then I recommend a double chocolate brownie from Starbucks with a tall bold of the day.
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