[tabs tab1=”Poem” tab2=”Poet Bio”]
[tab id=1]Four corners
Square one a reality that never left.
Detach the tongue and let it rest on the ground.
Once done re-attach.
The rule is no flash fiction
Yesterday’s body unresponsive and still.
Locked in open spaces
Agoraphobia and her sound of keys
Locked behind piano’s played by shaking hands of the bruising blues.
Dashed and sentences
Shots hard to put in symbols
Blurry accent and slurring mispronunciation.
“Kamph” of the grammar Nazi, swastikas and salute’s
A time and place for everything.
Cumulonimbus beneath roofs
Rain coming down from somewhere.
Dialling the number 9
Dial tone ringing in the ear
Partly cloudy on the one line
Hanging on the other
Throwing no shade
I dry beneath the sun.[/tab]
[tab id=2]This poet lives within his own mind. The show seen outside of this is in the best interests of civility and the advancement of the human race.