wicked sorrel
—
Philosophies often we seek –
Opposites of what we all are.
Alternate personalities that speak,
Come one to all – destination afar.
—
Madam, may I write on your page?
The canvas struck me with beige,
Red, and blue veins underneath.
Madam, may a number please?
One of mine in exchange of yours,
My heart begged to talk some more.
—
Brethren, permit me rest…
The battle was hardfought,
Now I request that I catch my breaths…
I shall meet you by dawn’s plot.
—
A misdirection of thoughts,
Spherical motions from its top.
They pull me until I’m wrought,
Like a hand around a doorknob.
—
Befriending the darkest alleys,
Feline whispers by the corners.
Sounds birthed from walls,
“I might soon be going crazy.”
—
exotic ibex