Sounds bleed
in the background
squished into poetry the color of yellow
you left a bad taste
in my mouth
but I lived inside your eyes
and saved echoes
in empty pockets
while the moon fell between my words
I drift in pages
now stained
and look for purpose
the hum of sad tunes
lull me to sleep
on long lonely nights
of manufactured fantasies
and streaks
on the glass
remind me of your face
somewhat abstract
inside October's colors
that symbolize your wisdom
in some odd way
I’m filled with flaws
and trip on my own tongue
often
but what’s stated in poetry
spins clockwise
and leaves a trail of black fumes
determined to find some kind of function
sifted through the hour glass
and if you follow my footprints in the sand
you’ll find an illustration -
morning rituals
complete with coffee
in one hand
and a pen in the other
poised
ready to bleed yellow
because red is just too messy
9/18/08
Honorable mention
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