poetry critical

online poetry workshop

death and hoaxes

you paint me selective yellow
and try to fool me in your swamp
you bend me
in various ferns
flushed with agitation
because my hand comes off
when you glue it to your own–
scratching your head
like a flustered pigeon
i am camouflage
you tyrant-
playing in papaya whip
such a drab color,
but it works when you stalk me
in the graveyard-
if only we had been friends,
your mire and my crypt
we could play
like civilized (a)dolts

17 Feb 12

Rated 10 (6.5) by 1 users.
Active (1):
Inactive (3): 2, 3, 10, 10

(define the words in this poem)
(219 more poems by this author)

(2 users consider this poem a favorite)

Add A Comment:
Enter the following text to post as unknown: captcha


It was so much fun playing in the graveyard!  We children of the loam!  : )  Each of us forever camouflage and tyrant.

The dolts is too doltsy pour toi.  
 — unknown

i liked how the gravestones smelled like war
 — unknown

i love titles as this
 — softyetharsh

yes, if only we'd been whatever.
i wouldn't be wiping my arse with you now.
 — unknown

Are you action men toys or rotten corpses. The degrees of decay are inquietude
 — unknown

it's because my eye has a patch on the inside
 — mandolyn

Viagra, four for recensioni cialis online and one for Levitra, said spokeswoman Susan Cruzan.  
 — unknown