Too many
unconventional scars,
swimming near and far,
wrapping themselves
in a half-hearted confidence
and blistering smoke,
just for my amazement
Too many
hand-picked dreams
left behind in dreary steam,
sparked and starred,
to target the lame-
torching curiosity
with selfish flame
Too much
mismatched contemplation
coating my frost-fed imagination.
Flickering chances
seem to dismiss the time
swallowing whole
the flow of rhyme |