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by Andrew Arnett 2 years ago in surreal poetry

A Poem

Social media belches the world as I drink

a roast pot of dead rat coffee beans.

the world is a burnt toast offering the mildew of a

nowhere land for nowhere men and women

drowning in a salt free seedless watermelon tomb.

there is the urgency of a desperate dog chasing

its tail and the world spins around again. we are

twiddling our thumbs waiting on a second coming,

a third coming, or a sequel to the last Marvel movie

of the world.

the X-Men will save us, in the end. but we are all

mutants, eventually. we’re all freaks and we are

hiding our super powers beneath a veil of

morbid skin fascinations.

nothing to see here, as Cyclops burns a hole

in the wall of the world with his laser vision.

Scarlet Witches float over the city, looming like

bright butterflies in the apocalypse afterburn.

surreal poetry
Andrew Arnett
Andrew Arnett
Read next: La Luna
Andrew Arnett

Freelance writer living in Brooklyn, NY.

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