There was this woman who
I used to know.
She wore cardigans and
glasses, and she had
a smile that would
chill a penguin.
She loved to build things.
One gray winter night,
she built a house of
delusions.
There were no mirrors,
and everything was
plastic.
The couch,
the bed
the sex,
the laughter,
the love…
all plastic and fake.
The flowers,
the fish,
the children,
Time didn’t exist to her,
and everything was
hazy and cruel.
I begged her to
put in mirrors,
she said they were too
expensive.
The house didn’t
cost much to
build, but it sure
wasn’t
stormproof.
I love it when you’re imagination explodes and runs riot like this – tremendous rhythmic energy! xx
Thank you, my dear friend.
An insightful write seen through a Bukowskian eye!
I appreciate it.
Marvelous piece. Well thought out.
Thanks.
hello dearest Thomas you need a real beauty great write 💕
I appreciate that.
Brilliantly penned, Thomas. Into the book it belongs! Incredible write my friend, I can’t stand plastic people either. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thanks, my friend.
You’re one of those poets whose work grabs my attention from the get go. M.E. is absolutely correct, your poems remind me of Bukowski as well.
Have a fantastic day, Thomas.
Thank you so much.
You’re welcome.