Flip Digit-Cyndi Dawson

Flip Digit

Mental petroleum burns faster.
Thoughts aflame; lit matched flare of nostril.
Angry twist of lip and cheek
borders slack jaw;
borders hunch of shoulder blade ;
borders flip digit cackle.

These hours crawl. They smell of sarcasm.
Sarcasm rots up poisonous, inhaled into
lungs scarred of the previous.
Scarred sludge and roadkill.
You can’t cart this away.
It smears permanent.
It lives in advantage to it’s host.

Conscience settles dust bowl slow,
accepting of fate, a give up.
Trades the fire extinguished dull.
Conscience does not slack jaw grimace
nor bend over tired, and spent…
It settles. It settles to continue.

No Petrol. No slack.
No flip digit power adrenalin.
Dead. Just dead.
No petrol, no pump of blood.
No rush of purpose.
Just dead.

(Cyndi Dawson (C) June 2009)