generic and his


11:55pm, nocturnal access to a slice of cake.
teeters of blue wrappers like i wanted to shatter.
drowsy, the tip of the knife is a cookie cutter murderer.

i hear a nursery rhyme of jack and jill, cliché of this and that.
they start to install antennas on my head.
i have a brain, a satellite.

to fake when i cannot show myself,
i hide inside the attic of an attic.
freedom is myself, this is relief.



About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

10 Responses to generic and his

  1. mariechriez says:

    Impressive… Every word you use in your poetry is a golden treasure worthy to be dug and cultivated.

  2. unfetteredbs says:

    attic of an attic… great hiding place. Love the image

  3. Ian Moone says:

    attic of an attic like a Russian doll, brilliant

  4. Anna says:

    I like the “attic of of an attic” too. 🙂

  5. jidalbin says:

    You do have your way of mixing words just like that of a fruit cocktail! Nice Sir! =)

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