The Trouble With Troubadours

The trouble with troubadours dour
is all the verbal doors shower
you in thoughts overly fixated
on blood clots of whats got them frustrated

Breaking the chain of my double helix
flex pecs of cause and effects
breaking the train of negative neural tracks
brain lame novel solutions showing cracks

Spit on the lips of my inner narrative
taking trips to get mood elevated
don’t say it if you can’t say anything nice
say it don’t spray it with your fire hose of life advice

I eye my me for flaws
I mow my body’s lawns
I ingest slow sugary death
simply because it tastes good

Daily poetry postings for your perusal. Scraps of intelligible thought Frankenstein stitched into a fabulous existential quilt. Feel free to talk poetry or philosophy with me--always interested in conversation and creation. >

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Posted in Poesy

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