deepundergroundpoetry.com
Relaxation Methods
This is how I relax:
Dangling these gangly appendages from antiquated
monoliths;
I slap comets quick at rocket ships,
and watch the spider gossamer blossom between the plant pots and polyfiller,
Polly will ya,
fill me
in?
You brush your hair
like you were
waxing violin strings.
And this is how I relax?
This how I relax:,
sat
chatting breeze
on a stack of cracked breezeblocks,
These bricks;
street debris the keen breeze knocks,
tipsy pre-teens play leap frog,
we sip red stripe, cheef weed and beatbox,
team strong
team seamless,
each evening seems
a seamstress,
she
weaves these songs
We eat seeds and greet the bleached grieving sun
with green tongues
and keep this thing circular.
And this is how I relax?
This is how I relax:
Tapping boom-bap patterns
into flat pads
scrapping these jazz scat palindromes
on the back of my bhagavad gita,
these precepts ain’t easy to keep,
The bohemian dreams of a lacoste collared geezer.
got lost in the shot bombs and cotched gone on the speakers
next week it’s
pondering lost sonnets for solace in solipsistic retreat
and seeing features sway
and futures wilting in the tea leaves.
And this is how I relax?
Dangling these gangly appendages from antiquated
monoliths;
I slap comets quick at rocket ships,
and watch the spider gossamer blossom between the plant pots and polyfiller,
Polly will ya,
fill me
in?
You brush your hair
like you were
waxing violin strings.
And this is how I relax?
This how I relax:,
sat
chatting breeze
on a stack of cracked breezeblocks,
These bricks;
street debris the keen breeze knocks,
tipsy pre-teens play leap frog,
we sip red stripe, cheef weed and beatbox,
team strong
team seamless,
each evening seems
a seamstress,
she
weaves these songs
We eat seeds and greet the bleached grieving sun
with green tongues
and keep this thing circular.
And this is how I relax?
This is how I relax:
Tapping boom-bap patterns
into flat pads
scrapping these jazz scat palindromes
on the back of my bhagavad gita,
these precepts ain’t easy to keep,
The bohemian dreams of a lacoste collared geezer.
got lost in the shot bombs and cotched gone on the speakers
next week it’s
pondering lost sonnets for solace in solipsistic retreat
and seeing features sway
and futures wilting in the tea leaves.
And this is how I relax?
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