Rose in rows un-masking,
the fragrance of the lucid-dream
coffins made of willow trees
on rivers of stagnation
claustrophobic, polished eyes
Progress fueled by empathy,
or—tanks of nicotine.
What does it mean
to climb with ropes of stone?
Find me love, or find me strength
For it is waving, and not drowning.
does this qualify as a prayer to god?
the poem that was found into something that is found.
i was walking along on the street, minding my own god-damned business and came across this piece of paper. it was a volunteer sheet for some church event. like the do’s and don’ts, basic role descriptions. I’m p particularly fond of the third to last line.
what is your purpose piece of paper?
I walked by some crumpled up pieces of paper in someone’s lawn this morning. I was going to pick them but I didn’t. I found two other pieces of litter a block away. I picked those up and brought them home. I haven’t unfolded them yet, they’re just sitting on my kitchen table. I don’t know what I’m afraid of finding. I’ll open them tomorrow I’m sure. yeah, tomorrow.
My name is Ruby, and this blog is here to showcase poetry in places that you wouldn’t expect to find poetry. The emphasis is on finding words, wherever they might occur and then finding security in the artifacts people leave behind.