love fish

my dancing dream

had a choking nightmare.

 

one pinkish morning,

she shared her fresh pain

over stale coffee:

 

something neurotic

about screaming

psychedelic children

drowning in monochrome

puddles of greed.

 

I want to help her

change her black and white

serpents

into festive red ribbons,

but her words have shifty

glowing eyes.

 

they giggle at me

from the underbrush.

tap at the dirty windows

of my dilapidated perception.

whisper demonic threats

in toddler-like voices

up

    up

         up through the stress cracks

in my aging foundation.

 

they seem sick.

they need help.

 

but,

they definitely have a political agenda.

they all have discolored teeth

and twitchy trigger fingers.

 

healthy,

they might just kill me,

and toss my logical remains

into the massive

hole in my reasoning.

 

I’m trying to be sensible

about this.

love is an easy enough fish to catch,

but nearly impossible to clean.

Reviews

[roarke]

ah, great last line of all last lines. The first time I read this piece slowly, I'm a slow reader. Then I read it again, and the stanza's went flashing by like they were oft quoted scripture, until the last three:
"healthy,
they might just kill me,
and toss my logical remains
into the massive
hole in my reasoning.

I’m trying to be sensible
about this.

love is an easy enough fish to catch,
but nearly impossible to clean."

Each time, these passages slowed my reading up, made me think, gave gravity to the previous passages. A perfect cycle. One of your very best RG

[Nobody.]

thanks buddy. I've missed reading your reviews. hope all is well.

lately, my writing is flowing like mud.

this is the first one I've been happy with in days. glad you enjoyed.
means a lot right now.

cheers!

[roarke]

maybe the "mud flow" is what your writing wants now. don't fight it, go with it.

[Nobody.]

ha! it's like LSD at this point. I can't fight it, so I'm just trying to keep it from turning weird. :)