Monday, April 03, 2017

NaPoWriMo, Day Three, Poem Three

Crack Up

This could be the last fight
you'll pretend we never had,

the last post-match argument
you'll never have to win.

Throw out your book's page
of scripted concern.

Ignore me without need
to monitor me by mirror.

If I want to be ignored
I'll simply open my mouth.

Your basket of  surpise can stay closed.
My flute's too low to charm your snakes.

I don't want a rung to sit on
in your psychic hierarchy.

I've broken both legs
in your lower plane.

There is no moral victory.
Walking away begets more walking.

Something needs to end for peace.
You believe in ghosts more than me.

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