My Phoenix

by Samuel De Lemos

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Looking to find answers-disparate players In agonistic sincerity.
Wishing for some power-ball
Match, to save me from the agitation in my truncated Dyptic painting.
Colors are wrong-the placement is cerebral: contrived words
contrived life, everything is Jelly. Oscillating tentacles of
eclectic-denim! its half past five I’m trying to get my buzz on
with Styrofoam sheets in between finished songs.
Packed in disillusionment, I see holes in trees through blacked out screens,
now screams-senseless splashes once my Phoenix
recedes into cupcakes with purple filling and white sprinkled fences.
Cold walks in another town, familiar ocean waves
singing lullaby’s with a steady bass line and sounds of dysfunctional
pool hall balls. Tattooed benches filled with crumbs of
men trying to sell their documentaries
for a buck or a part-time poem, either way street art moves on
in the ashes of moonlit hysteria.

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