doc312's blog: "poetry"

My heart would like to sit next to you get a better view of the way you do the things you do it is tired of looking a? round corners, out of windows trailing shadows it has taken up disguises it bags your groceries, and cashes your check, it gobbles up the peanuts you throw at the zoo it plays operator and tells him his calls can't go through My heart is your lucky charm my heart is your winning lottery number my heart is your cost of living raise my heart is a shooting star falling your way My heart wants to announce itself as your cavalier it is chauvinistic with nerve enough to walk up to you, beating like an Ashanti drum arrogantly red and ruby warm here to state a case and ain't backing down The one thing my heart is speeded up to do, it is murmuring for a chance to get next to you

I took a walk through Bluesville, with eyes visiting old corners, now vacant asking them to tell me their poems but all their metaphors have been exploited and sentimentality won't resurrect old stone There's a house across Ogden on Sawyer where I received fifty-cent haircuts as a boy decayed and full of tombstone weeds nothing seems to work there now It's strange growing old, cherishing things not cherished in youth not knowing the value of what was once had In Bluesville there grows dandelions to the world, Bluesville's flower is a weed but being from Bluesville a person knows a dandelion is a ghetto rose