Lee W. Deason : Writing

The alarm clock chemical spill.

The alarm clock chemical spill.

A Poem by Lee W. Deason


Concrete feet, marking the day the youth died. Remains 50 days before the matter of the fact. That the sun like that is never coming back. Becaus..
Kaziel dances.

Kaziel dances.

A Poem by Lee W. Deason


Soothing systematic response. Of breathing and sleeping. The ticking of the relic. The oracle of my keeping. A voice calls from over 1000 miles ..
Exposure.

Exposure.

A Poem by Lee W. Deason


Today I looked down at the paper and sighed. No sounds and the words would just turn and hide. It's quiet, in the surreal world today. Did some one..
Cycle eclipse.

Cycle eclipse.

A Poem by Lee W. Deason


Be careful, don't let his mouth stutter. He speaks with a Gatling gun, hair trigger. Be accurate, and immaculate. Cross hair on your for head. F..
Funeral for the visceral.

Funeral for the visceral.

A Poem by Lee W. Deason


I'm sick of the dead horse. He rides around, laughing at pictures tearing them down. I go to pick them up, but the faces blur and look ashamed. I..
Burning blue kisses.

Burning blue kisses.

A Poem by Lee W. Deason


I can't taste it in my dreams. A safe place, no chances. For failure or incomprehension. I've seen this once before, open and metallic. Where th..
We're not disappearing.

We\'re not disappearing.

A Poem by Lee W. Deason


I've been covering up.... With little noises and swallowing inside. Greedy greedy, I might be, when its about you. Because it would hurt you too ..
Serpent clock.

Serpent clock.

A Poem by Lee W. Deason


Serpent is this time well spent, slithering towards the hole? To hide again, waiting for prey to walk where you can stalk. So lets close the curta..
Closed minds can't read.

Closed minds can\'t read.

A Poem by Lee W. Deason


An asymmetrical spectacles adorn your view. A simple misunderstanding, a bias from you. Incoherently reading for the origin of this hand. The con..
The Sirens cry (kissing the curved blade.)

The Sirens cry (kissing the curved blade.)

A Poem by Lee W. Deason


As I see... The riddles wink at me. My emotions form puddles that never leave. They run and flow through the gutters inside. Where they belong....