tick, meter, and shift
pendulum stuck in place, strike
me down before it
four corners, a hospice of record cosmic
close my sight, forever close to me
synthetic drapery calls the turtles, hounds.
burst, shift, haymaker at the closet a roundhouse of apology
tick tick, swing back into motion a harmony, honestly,
sympathetic chronology, forget my taste
metallic crinkling, fibers web and weave
shouts heard by the walls, ends, and seconds
Wish for memories erased, the guilt racks up
pacts of silence, worst metrics for kids with broken arms
slumber in the four corner cosmic
prodigy of rug carpeting, harnessing a message to
cause reckless commotion, swift!
three more hits and
you’ll be swimming in
the dirt ocean.
About the Creator
Trent Odlin
After getting diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disease at the age of fifteen, forcing me out of school and uprooting my life, I spent the majority of the next five years in bed. There, I found writing, and my own style of surreal poetry.
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