Sandy Player Poems
|1.||The Sheep Gang||2/1/2013|
|3.||The Waiting Rooms Fish Tank||4/13/2013|
|4.||Pure Dripping Pure||12/30/2013|
|6.||To My Voice||12/30/2013|
|9.||In The Graves||2/14/2013|
|10.||Long Sable Torch||2/22/2013|
|13.||Doctor's Smoke Jar||2/1/2013|
|16.||Down The Drain||2/25/2013|
|17.||My Love Is A Red, Red Pool||9/4/2013|
|18.||A Tree Can'T Sing||9/4/2013|
|20.||Left Alone For Another Lifetime||4/20/2013|
It tastes sweet,
A syrupy figure of strawberry juice
Spiralling like a typhoon in the glass,
Tastes sweet as I kiss the rim
Into the corners of my mouth like
Two blunt knives.
I used to play a little with
The pills before hiding them away in me
One by one but
I crack the packets open this time
Like Christmas crackers
And take a suprise bomb; a bad joke.
The back of my mouth and the top of my throat
Wave on the first green coated hero
And the second doesn't stick either
But the next go in
As commandos whose cover is blown;
Like the poisonous...
The Sheep Gang
Miles away from where you live in your sky-searching city
There's a large brown hill also wearing clouds.
Like the condemned man's blindfold.
Nothing actually grows on this rock-garbed hill,
The grass that you have in your parks doesn't even rise here.
Those sickened green blades drooped and cut the ground years ago.