Poem-A-Day: Day 31

Word Up

I’ve made a business
of turning frowns
into upside-down syndrome,
adding one chromosome,
and playing with the English language
as if it were my dick
or something slightly more interesting.
Words are my tool,
I wind and crank them,
strip them down,
only to rebuild them
and inject them
with my own perverse meaning.
I’m a hackneyed doctor
performing surgical procedures
before I’m licensed by the approving board,
because I’m bored,
and choose to do something
with the only thing
that I have any vague idea about.

Poem-A-Day: Day 26

Cloud Gazing

Poem-A-Day: Day 22

Dark Side of My Moon

Sacrosanct the words
that etch their way
into the indelible memories,
like an ulcer;
acid eating away at soft tissue,
or collections of silver halides
caused from exposure,
to a what that remains unclear.

But the word’s permanence
takes precedence,
residence,
and grips tightly to the tendrils,
neurons hanging
from a jellyfish brain.

The words and diction,
a collection
of dictionary definitions
set to rhythm,

prismatic winding words
cast off in every direction.