Poems of CHarlesHIce 

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charlaxici

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 TITLED

TITLED
poem,summer
SIck can be allatonce like a tonofbricks or c r e e p i n g
s l o w it feels like underwater oil flow
head is pounding heart is palpatating
no reason for it at all we call it headache and move ontop of the chopping block too remove the problem some add ice pack the head into cement eyecantypewordssameasanyofyoutheymeanthesamethingtome
astheymeantoyou it seems that a homeless person must be a drunk or worse a thief or worse a smelly old shopping cart or worse a cereal killer. Paying for a meal ticket with a laminated credit card. Pretending to be armed and hankerous. Waiting for the dust to settle up. Liberating long lines of fairywinkles. All the people living who made it to the top of the workforce just reverted into monkies like there predecessors was monkies too. They must be psychedelics every little thing is color enhanced there is no prerogatives left. Every roll over ad is color coordinated in livid colors. Spacewarpped seaweed wrapped and sick and Titled.


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