Mantra in the morning,
I pretend to sing.
Numb, the funny frozen
secrets of those lyrics
are stabbing my I do’s.

Flat wheels on the road
are sold by merchants of
the bankrupt markets.
They fail to facilitate
a bittersweet, graveyard shift.

I come back and trade
the holidays left on my
Gregorian calendar.
Somebody has stolen fifteen-
day annual sick leave.



About chester maynes

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

6 Responses to Talisman

  1. sangg527 says:

    This is beautiful and i love this 🙂
    Yours may be better than my work! hope you dont mind checking it out and letting me know what you think maybe? 🙂 https://sangg527.wordpress.com/

  2. Shreya says:

    Chester, I love your pieces man!

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