I’ll call you, Blue, if you’ll pick up your phone.

If a rose is a rose by any other name,

then why don’t we stop and smell the cocaine?

Have not a smile

for my sight,

stink,

sounds,

game?

Tame for you, I promise.

I wish you’d spend more time with me

we could cut the seconds,

lined

one, two, three,

sniff

that kick,

my bump with you

Your lips have said,

‘the violet’s blue’

My lips are had

crackling glue, 

a paste all eaten,

digested food,

‘red roses are red’

red rimmed nose too,

and if you leave me

I’d have to be rude

and suggest with a smile

the color your choose,

released from your grip

balls will be too

hanging into the—

WAIT!

3,

2…

I’d leave you a voicemail but your inbox is full.


Poem by Jack Mayo

Comment