Jeff's Poetry

to float, to be. to soar, to be. to hurt, this me. to feel, this me.

a way out - a hunter ensnares, tailored baits for prized captures unaware of the lures,

the obvious is easy to catch, like a fish refusing to drown, how can it? the unclear is a mixed bag, like being tossed into deep ocean,

they kissed like lovers beneath a moon gone orange - bursting to tell of illicit activities of two accomplices

an encounter with the 4th dimension is not often uttered out aloud, lest the neighbors and polite crowd gasp - and look shocked. for what is seen is easily believed,

at dawn first peering beneath a shed, bulbous head with tongue tasting air. a rustle in the leaves, then a hiss for writhing body

these days the noise becomes more electrical than signal with live wire blasting a hole in my heart. not beating.

because the onlookers beamed, cheered and it felt good. but shallow, shrug that off - because the ends justify the means, and it is all about winning. and what is it? it's whatever when the wind brings luck,

first blank slate, ink drops become words taught by whoever carries the reins breaking or loosened. though belief recreates magnetic pulls no longer attractive.

the apostle of money wears a frowning face, mixed with a hint of doubt - escorts the fanatics into the midnight hour where boogey men come out dressed like clowns, letting lose raving bats flapping