Slow Motion

raw
strawberry jam
from a can
on soggy bread
it all
falls apart
that being said...
just pour it
instead
a slow-motion
explosion
of sweet and red
I bled
on the streets
and it put me
to sleep while
my head yelled
corrosion
from drainpipe erosion
but this jelly
is frozen
it's chosen destination
the bread in my hand
a bloody canned
carnation
Machiavelli once said
it's all
in your head
call it
dead call it a
lamb chop
flip-flop fish-kabob
deck-scrubbed
cut grass
skip class and ask
the pop why it
tastes like
sassafras
ask the breeze
why it blows
the trees makes them
bend at the knees
like "please, mama, please"
ask the birds
why they fly
wax wings in the sky
on the 4th
of July
it might be a
fall make it
look like
a dive

Reviews

[Ninja Empyrean]

This isnt a poem about picking yourself up again. It took me a while, but in my eyes the first twelve lines speak of entropic conformity. Try hards either succeed or fail, but the ninety nine percent should just pour thier jam instead of muddying the bread, trying for the perfect toast with a heavy knife. I say try for the perfect toast, and if the bread rips or you use to much jam, throw it in a bowl and grab a spoon; heat up that dive and call it a pie.

[Yari Garcia (Older Prof..]

Saw you advertise your profile on the "Awe-Mazing!" group and I thought I'd check it out ^_^
While I don't fully understand this poem, I like it. It's different, which is very refreshing on this website. The very last few lines are my favorite.