Smoke No Fire

Fractured minds are like open blinds.

Hell, open blinds just let the sun in.

That ain’t what you meant.

Wet cotton rots.

Same as a poem that rhymes drama with mama

and thinks it done something.

Slap a label on it,

like nailing a sign to a busted fence post.

Calling it deep.

Stack similes like rank wood.

Smoke no fire!

You call it profound,

and I’m checking the kiddie pool for your keys.

A chipped drill bit won’t cut deep.

Just chews the wood and whines.

That’s why shit don’t line up.

Here’s your karma:

Somebody finally read what you wrote

instead of what you wished you wrote.

Water’s only ankle deep,

but you still managed to drown.