Poetry: Trapped

Surreal? 

Could it be a coup de maître; could it be a coup de "farce"; could it be a coup de grâce; or, perhaps, a coup de cœur after a coup de foudre?

You decide.

© TRAPPED

Exploding creation pounding at the doors;

Frostbitten embryos pushing at icy wombs;

The faster you grow, the harder the rain falls.

Terrorized by Hypnos arrhythmic breaths,

Ethereal truths bleed in a dead language;

All are trapped in the threads of Death’s shroud.

Mimi Wolske

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Mimi-Mona Poetry: Naked Drinks

©Naked Drinks

Mimi Wolske

You said all was copacetic

as I turned cartwheels across the floor;

you said it kinda made you sea sick;

someone asked who was keeping score.

The bear who lived across the hallway

complained he couldn't smoke anymore;

the painter laughed; the writer said he didn't pay.

Then the room started spinning faster

as the floor dropped into space;

fireworks were shared together

over silk and discarded lace

by the wolf and his pole dancer...

Then we hit the dusty trail.

And so it was years later,

when your best friend told the tale,

he said there was no reason ever,

and pierced his magic cards with a fingernail

before all that existed became a blur.

And so it was that time went on a respirator

while we spit through the rabbit's door,

and slid into the dream of Mother,

who turned cartwheels across the floor.