Corny nuts nutting over the field of chests.
There haven't been walkers
since the day of carts.
Do you carry your trash-bags
to the park?
Peanut-butter isn't good for the soul
if you're allergic
and have holes
on your holes.
Inside of the holes-
Wasn't me!
That's what I've said
to the boy who rode the roller-coaster
before he blew up
and landed,
dead,
on the side of the highway
with seven more lives
to give away.
He'd given me a Birthday card
from Hallmark
and I don't have the pain
to drink tea in vain.
The bulbous bulb of lights
has taken on a new form
which decides
on how the nutting nuts
will treat me in my time of rut.
YOU ARE READING
Incoherent Poetry
PoetryPoetry that serves to clash tonally and ideally with the objective that a new tone, genre, or coherency (some semblance of sense at all) can be made from throwing different ideas together in a bizarre gathering of words.
