Mustard ochre walls
Marked and dirty
Hands, paws, life
Indelible smudges
Of passing time
What if I sit down
Face six inches away
Absorbing colour
Til cones exhaust
Then pull back to observe
Violet ghosts
Eye’s compensation; a gift
Purple city for sober adults
Floaters in my vision
Clarity’s thorn
Annoying tissue fibres
Cast soft squiggles
Dancing in front
Of necessary words
In the bath I soak
Hyper aware
My own flesh
Some parts buoyant
Others sink
Into its liquid cradle
Here I am
Vulnerable, on display
What if you sit down
To watch me
If given long enough
Does my outline reverse
Into someone else
You could have loved
About the Creator
Aspen Marie
In love with life and all of its foibles.
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Where's the Glory?
In breaking news, rehabilitated Republican Senator Johnnie Johnson (Pronouns: HE, HIM, HIS) called a press conference from the Men’s room of the New Orleans Louis Armstrong International Airport, Concourse B, across from the Ignatius Reilly’s Lucky Dog stand. The Senator had just returned from a sexual reorientation rehabilitation program in Memphis, TN after being publically disgraced at a Buckee’s Truckstop restroom soliciting sex from an undercover cop three months ago. He is a founding member of the Reformed Christians for Christ, a conservative, pro-family and ex-gay advocacy group. In the spirit of being reborn, Senator Johnson invited reporters to marvel at his plans for a major remodeling of airport bathrooms.
By Cathy Schieffelin7 days ago in Humor
Comments (5)
Always love your poems❤️
Well-wrought! The illusions created by our persistence of vision are no less real than any others created by our perception, though perhaps not as useful in the day-to-day.
Really brilliant I loved your poem ♦️♦️♦️
Ooh, there’s something beautifully raw about the image of becoming ghostly in someone else's gaze both fragile and profound.💖
Those last three lines hit me so hard. Loved your poem! Also, what's that photo supposed to be of?