My brain is a bit reflexive,
a contusion of popular cultures and drama trends.
Trying to push your brain outside your head;
vortex of nothing but lead.
Life is a game with the devil,

and the angel’s trashed.

So let me rehash the painful past for a moment.
I’m not trying to make an atonement,
my thoughts are constellations.
The migrations of nations.
Before I get caught in
A matrix of solid playground
and alone in the dark,
I’ll slide right down to the garden of thoughts.
Easter eggs covered in spots.
When my head aches
I think about all the times
I’ve let my prose turn in to rhymes.
I channel sublime feels of love,
This ending seems kind of abrupt!

 

 

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Photo by

Zulaikah Anderson.

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