Turpentine Headache.

Another time spent with an oily paintbrush, and a slight humming.
The canvas, so frustrating , I sit counting the stains on my bare legs.
But only until unkind evocative thoughts emerge and then just as hastily, dissipate.
My attention quietly permeates into peaceful dreams of transcendence, and red irises.
That I.
Half-heartedly attempt to depict on this incomplete work.
Oh Morpheus!
If you are truly a god.
Then take me away from this wretched place!
Did you think that intellect would notice my abandonment?
It has seen worse days, I’m sure.
Like when it was dubbed “the little entombment of the soul.”.
It is just another hiding place to go and park yourself until the tenth number is finally reached.
Nothing but a child’s game.
Will we ever be found between the time of the first and last moments?
Such an inquiry!
I will try not to let it disturb my counting.

Turpentine Headache.

Joei

Fayetteville, United States

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Poem ya’ll

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