Penny Poems

If writing is the cheapest
form of art
I'm running on paper,
nickels & dimes
slow to fade grass stains
in pants I've stole
and wing tipped shoes with soles wore down to their bones
a simple display of affection for something I've never even worn
this town is so peaceful
from up here
like you could jump into its arms and swing
just to feel the ground rush beneath your wings
opened little eyes
of awe struck pedestrians
as you simply pass them by, foregoing polite gestures of morn'
i just don't have
the desire to move, not anymore
ill simply sink into the grass,
just melt and run
like those minutemen aphids,
with raised anteriors
and swollen minds like
love handles lost control

for whatever reason,
its all lost in no reason
in these wind blown conversations I'm out of date
little dancing spiders played
their games in your hair
in my mind, it all lies out of season
instead, its buried
in this little valley town
in your eyes it sinks and i am lost

Writing is the cheapest form of art
and amazement isn't worth a penny
to simply be cliche
its f**king priceless