Poetry of Routine : Finding loophole

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blood in my veins races in a loop

on infinity petals of a knot

a knot in muscle, a knot in tongue

feeding contortions of silence,

a caged hamster runs

to please, be pleased

now faltering for a breath

 

with binaries of extremes

the ends never meeting

to love, now unloved

I am a spinning spindle, beseeching

a preemption with the hand grazing

brooding over its fuzzy logic

let me hear myself say ‘what if’

 

I pine for a palpitation

a sigh, a smile or a shriek

identity of a throb from a tamed beat

it escapes me like that of barren lands

them who know naught of welcoming

never shall they grieve the frozen

never shall they thaw

 

©Written Frames, 2019

First in the series can be read here : Poetry of routine: The Crossing

Poetry of routine: The Crossing

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blows of routine, mourned

dent in chest and ache of lemons

squeezed to drink, to refill

 

honking horns, vrooming

breath savoring the phase of wait

men stewing under their noses

 

galloping gait, impatient

kicking the pebbles and people marching

the paradox of them coming to leave

 

a busy crossing, a musing

curlicues of civilization on interrogative hooks

moving, though not looking back for once

 

©Written Frames, 2019