ship sharp scissors
grinding at the man before you
cutting all the ugly pieces:
nothing left when all is said and done.

prison cells
seem comfortable
when concrete feels like pillows;
is it a better world
where the cement mixes with sorrow?

trimming daffodils
because i have no reason why;
understanding anatomy
makes me bleed no more no less.

chicken pox
on society
two houses made of plastic
and we love to look through curtained windows.

i'm not particularly myself today
but you can stop by
and leave me money:
i'm another victim of economic pinball machines.

raisin boiling
in the pot
melted in a sea of butter:
that's my name.

fade up on
a table in darkness
man screaming silence
and a note from no one
telling him to go home.

these nights howl
like women who lost their child in birth
but that's okay:
i never cared for company.

ghosts walking the hallway
some dead
some alive
faces as pale as the day we were brought onto this earth
through small holes of various sizes.

burning in the pan
smear the salt
sprinkle the pepper
and smell the aroma
of terminating happiness
filling the room.

05/05/2008

Author's Note: Due to the slow trickle of writing I've had to do this week in comparison to the past month, a poem came out of me by surprise.

Posted on 05/06/2008
Copyright © 2024 Jared Fladeland