Eraser Marks
My belly grows
in proportion to my amnesia
more each year
Like, I forget among these throwaway treasures
I’m an heir to a kingdom unimaginable
a stick figure who only knows design by pencil
trying to imagine a sunrise without eraser marks
If this Word ain’t on repeat in my heart
I grow bloated and forgetful
Filling up on fast food
Outside a banquet hall
Shameful nobody, poverty in my bloodline
purchased by his blood,
I’m not working for a finish line
I’m working from His finished line
Born a blind man, boasting in clear vision
Until He gave me vision
My belly grows
In proportion to my amnesia
That’s half a truth
A dead man, brought to life, only looks like he’s dying
Get it, bro. Love your use of sound!
Bravo!
John, it’s great to read your work again!
Thanks Jordan! I’m looking forward to reading yours!
This poem keeps coming around. I like it!
Thank you!
I am surprised that I, an agnostic, love your poems. But I do