THE WANNA FEEL COMFORTABLE POEM

the eyes –
that came upon me
as i held my hands on the sheets,
trembled with my every word
n into your stares.
blenders in propeller sound,
n the cash register
was ka-changing with low volume music.
woo! the rush that surged inside of me,
like tornadoes smashing through windows
gripping each and every syllable.
blondes, brunettes, of blue, brown and hazel eyes
shape the forms of the past
with the lake down the street,
where the waves slap
wrists upon the dock.
people coming in n out like yesteryear,
and the bar around the corner
where the bands played
took in my money quite frequently.
the closet upon my forehead,
is the big dish of life.
the beginning licks of a poet
in the wanna feel comfortable poem.

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