I Miss the Skeptics

Here

The walls are white

And the bedsheets are blue

Heavily layered with fat flowers

Forgotten by taste

They've hustled me away

From tangerine monuments

With thorns from India

From marijuana backyards

Heavy with the orgasmic sting

Of political debate

Red wine bleeding onto the violin

Its chorus filtering out

Indifference

A starlight ceiling

And opinions

How I miss the opinions

Reviews

[Kaden Sylvers]

Wow! This poem is perfect how it is, so trance like. I love the moments that seem personal because they are specific words "tangerine monuments", "thorns from India", it makes the poem confusing which makes it even better, if that makes any sense.