Friday, November 7, 2014

That's odd

ran out of 3 
line poems
       pomes got no legs
                         NO legs
to stand on,
no more words
empty corridors
yellow lit hallways
muffled sound of
breathing in some
forgotten room

after hours
after ours
they've gone away
one at a time
sprinkle earth with
our dust momma
git eet right
get it down,

you ain't a'frid brotha?
sure it's goin' down

sure as hell

there're no red lines
on the clock

a blank face
a void

coughs back,

caparisoned in
fluorescent rags
we take one final step

piss off.

you heard me. 

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