Coming to Terms with Poetic Humanity

A part of the cosmos,
A cosmospolitan of stars
Each in turn winking and blacking out.
I’ve drunk too much Nebulita tonight.

I’ve done shots of His immortal soul
Bound to feel sick to my stomach
Aches and pains un:cured, balanced.
I need a tums.

It is the un:
Did, done, said, sung.
The not un:written right
That must now be done.

I’ve swum in the grey waters of poetry,
Where the blurred shapes of “something”
Or the slippery scales of “it” brushing my legs,
Brushing “these” onto canvas is like bottling clouds.

The voices of silence whisper to me,
Sweet everythings that I cannot hold
In my human hands
They turn to smoke and are lost.

Photo by Tom Barrett on Unsplash