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Sunday Morning Coming Down
by Jared FladelandThere is no feeling
like the grease paint
on my face
of an un-showered morning.
My brain has a predisposition
to want more than I have,
ache for what is not true,
and turn fiction into fact.
My body is taffy,
women are the gravitational pull in all directions.
I drip like coffee
through the filter of urban voodoo economics.
I just want to be among the redwoods,
breathing in the pine,
and be at peace knowing that I'm not smelling
the inside of my own coffin. 04/20/2014 Posted on 04/20/2014
Copyright © 2026 Jared Fladeland
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 04/20/14 at 05:54 PM This poem has been my life. May I join you in the redwood? Nice write. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 04/20/14 at 07:23 PM Loved the body being taffy, the whole coffee filter and urban voodoo economics, and thinking about those last two lines. Well done. |
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