Satisfaction is a moment,
not a state of being.
We travel through them,
one after another,
like a series of tunnels
along a mountain road.
What comes between
is just a moment, too.
No matter how narrow
or steep the road becomes.
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A Moment Between
The road is a lapdog’s tongue
Nailed down by carrion flies.
Beauty’s in the breeding of
Tics from a circus matchbox.
Pictures of the missing blow
Away, wisps of charred tissue
Add the smell of something sour
About to heave up again.
Standing water, mosquitoes
Above a ruptured gassline,
The sky, bruised and waiting to
Deliver another blow.
[Disposable Poem May 23, 2013]
Dr. Mike
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