It must have been three or four in the morning

jumping from one naked bed to the next

imagining weeds growing out of my broken wing

and how some people leave them in the cracks

while others pull and trim.

Every soul needs a rim

every love a first and a last hymn

I don’t want to rhyme today

but the other half is in your sunny ray.

Someone pulled me out of my dream

he was tall

and spoke eloquently

with words of a poet

was it you?

Did you feel my naked skin?

The weeds are under the snow now

still -10 in the wind

as well as my heart.

Lying down in examining rooms

being spread out and memorizing

centimeters and numbers

cyst sizes and wild frontiers.

I imagine I would be pretty as a blonde

but I’m okay.

He looked so worried

talking to my old high school teacher

in a waiting room of women

with pretty robes and panoramic views of the city

from the tenth floor.

I’m okay.

I feel like a weed though

I feel stuck between the cracks

and I’m not so sure

if I’m okay at all.

14 thoughts on “Weeds

  1. Haha, sounds like a trip. I’ m sure you’ ll be fine. It’ sa case of deleting all the visions from the night and starting afresh. That’ s probs one of the good things about daylight, that it can enable you to switch from night weed mode. Let me know if I’ m completely off-track with this.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Hey! You have been nominated by WordPress user bleedingoutink to be featured on Retkon Poet Anniversary Week! ( Fourteen poets will be featured from April 6-13. Please give consent or refuse before April 2 by replying to this comment.

    Have a wonderful day πŸ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

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