Shoe Flungin Lies

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


Melodramatic sprigs spring through,
The trees shake their leaves together.
I'm on my way out of dense city woods.

It's not the summer, or blocks, and blocks,
Of blocky, shimmery, advertising riddled,
Carpet stained, pummeled carpet, waxy black;
These poorly dressed, confused, blue shaded,
Cynical having, large office buildings, there,
Just off suburbia, resting in the ground, as people
Swerve past, on their bullet vehicles, and bullet
Bikes, and bullet feet. I have largely concurred...

That my pale, sun missing, anxious face,
Is simply too much to handle...
And that I have spent my hours listening to,
"Tick tock, tick tock. The day is fading,
And everyone is going home." I am simply...

I am too odd with my gadabout way,
My flip flop feet, flapping on the pavement,
On my way down to get the bins from the street.
My hermit eyeballs, my lids squeezing at light...

I had concurred from experience, that I am-
Just simply too strange to be accepted into this,
Tip top, blocky blocks of buildings, fancy shmancy,
Normal formal, boring, elevator music, small talk society.

I have shot my snooty nose...
Right out of cannon through these white walls,
Right on to my own set. Here in my van,
Testing the wall length, my arms spread eagle,
Here in my itty bitty, small bitty, flower pattern,
Woody, colorful, basket having van. Washing-
My greasy fleecy hair, in the blue, salt shaven,
Waters of Australian sea. On my own in my-
Illegal life, my illegal non children having,
Alone, no house having, shoe flungin,
No friends havin, crazy, anxiety riddled,
Mentally ill life.

They have some shoe flungin lies.


Submitted: January 13, 2022

© Copyright 2022 Flambe. All rights reserved.

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