The keys play on my heart, like funeral diseases
Wondering where the cold freeze is, Lord Jesus.
Please let this feeling beneath us be freedom.
Like the players, cold on the team, the weather freezing.
Devil keep breathing, only ones dreaming
Is those scheming, to believe.
The cold freeze plays in threes, with the strings, the trapeze,
Follows the cheese, like a heart attached, seized
To the straps of the sheath, the knife wound leaves.
The wound heals, the broken shield,
The dream deal, the wilderbeast, Apollo Creed,
The seasons series, seeing is believing.
This shit so dreary, moon landing in evening.
The store needs cleaning, against the beams.
The street sweepers, be fleeting. This was all a dream.
The only thing lasting is this cold freeze.
In between the disease and the cool breeze, what lies beneath isn’t always What she sees, you see, or they see, the freeing,
The lasting evening.
The weakling takes his cake, this weekend,
And the eee’s the ahh’s the shrieking behemoth,
Falls down mighty go the fallen.
This week’s brow-beaten, streaky oily creaking,
Wondering , wishing, waiting for the week to end,
And the dreamer to finish his dreams.
Leave the lasting and walk away freezing.
A brain freeze, JT, playing poetry games, ’cause the rhyme
So easy to me.
Even with this Tuesday Brain Freeze.
Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly. His new book is Train of Thought.