Welcome to the Show

I’ll always…

Stomp dirt into plumes of dust
Ready, say, go
or maybe,
Internally combust.

I’ll always…

Slay myself
Over trifles.
Without rifles,
or pistols miming in the dark.

All I need are my thoughts,
They’re lethal enough, after all…

So.
Salutations to the confines of a deadly mind.
Littered with mines.
That’s mine and so is this.
And so is that…
Rat-a-tat.
You’re in my mine field.
So you’re mine now…
Constantly clawing,
to find another way out.


And that’s okay.
It’s not as if I made a map.
Or an atlas.
And speaking of,
would you crack my back?
The world is backing
to dislodge my vertebrae.

A crooking spine.
The last thing that I’d need.
Perhaps it’d complete a composite of all my broken dreams.
A broken spine.
Broken bones that sit in line.
And bend at whim.
But sometimes they don’t bend at whim.
And that’s the problem when you have
a crooking spine.

So welcome to the show.
Your ticket is your admission.
Your feet are your seats
and my mind is the main act.
Don’t enjoy it.
Wonder why…
There are no refunds.
So welcome to the show.
And welcome to the confines of a paradigm of space.

Author's Note

Some stream of consciousness! Enjoy!

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

The poem is amazing. I had to read again for the pleasure of the story.
"You’re in my mine field.
So you’re mine now…
Constantly clawing,
to find another way out."
No weakness in this outstanding poem. Thank you for sharing your poetry.
Coyote