Log 127
By Godric
Photo by Tommy Coyote
Published Issue 089, May 2021
And we rolled like carpet,
Ivory crustaceans.
My heart look like them new Gucci bags
Yellow, to the side.
Pillow kissed the Sun in a meadow before waffle macchiato licked my turtleneck.
Noticed it later,
Like lint in a picture.
I can still hear the Eno,
Gasping
Taping wind,
Rapping.
My birthday song hit 4,000 plays this week.
It’s on SoundCloud,
just blowing candles.
I use everything to find mutants.
A negroid Cerebro.
To bat & signal truth
Mine?
I guess.
Shared surely..
Yes?
Loneliness,
Our scathing mouse in the house.
To whom we clog & sob,
“I’d of rather not.. known love at all.”
If only ruin and influence,
Muted, silent brooding
Would be all it gave.
It’s those.
Them,
Me’s.
I signal most,
Cerebral bouquets & a listening pose.
By song, ring or write
The story I invoke
Handles permission with a knife.
Suggests nothing outside of hosting Life.
A world for mutants,
Where minds can kite.
Some say its rounding the corner,
Hmph,
I’m sho’ they right.
Check out more of GODRIC’s work — (@GODRINATI) :
INSTAGRAM, PINTEREST, TUMBLR, FACEBOOK, TWITTER & SOUNDCLOUD
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