cold planer
Super freaky smart brick walls. I don’t have much to say anymore-
I’m trying to get back into the practice of throwing up on paper.
Heat in your face like you’re wine drunk.
Grudges held so long you can’t remember what you’re being spiteful about.
If I go far enough away I can turn you into a tv character-
forget you were ever really in my life.
Flowers a color that flowers shouldn’t be.
Raspberries acting as hats for particularly stylish fingers.
Please- more childish questions:
Let’s talk about something other than sports and weight loss.
They’re repaving my city- it’s the season for trailer hitches.
Leave me alone.
Let me lay you down and unhinge my snake jaw.
I’m a working girl- let me provide for you.
It’s shame or it’s curiosity but at least it’s different than before.
Or,
I’m a glass bottle.
Or,
I’m not really sure where my attitude is coming from.
Or,
I’m going to chew a hole through your midsection.
3 thoughts on "cold planer"
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Dang, Lillian!. This is a hellaciously good poem, full of snark and wit. I’m scared a YOU.
Let’s talk about something other than sports and weight loss.
Speaks volumes, and the intensity of the last line — the surprise in the poem — made me it back like I’d been slapped. Very effective. Thank yo so much for sharing this well-crafted poem!
I love this! And “I’m trying to get back into the practice of throwing up on paper./Heat in your face like you’re wine drunk.” Shew, yes.