poetry

Trotting Mules

By Amy Thomson

Trotting mules fuel bile
while
counterfeit grins
spin
threads in my head.
Laugh at me,
I laugh on.
Come dawn,
grin wins,
charged with cheer
despite leers I sear,
whispers near
from vacuous lips more idle than
sneakers missing soles,
sneaking sideways glances into
missing souls,
I laugh on.
Emotional brawn
wrapped in eggshell,
dwelling in Plath’s bell jar,
heart tarred,
not gone,
I laugh on.

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poetry

Off-Balance Balance

By Amy Thomson

Store-bought transmitters
steadfast
strong.
Dulled jitters
heart flitters
taste of bittersweet
saccharine.
Head heavy
pulled down
in submarine
sertraline.
Can’t cum,
heart’s numb
under Complacency’s
adequate thumb.
Quit school,
too cool
too okay
to stay
here,
not out of fear,
but why steer
when I can float?
A balanced ghost
of Amy Christine,
learned to coast,
prescription post.
Not survived,
kept alive.
Inertia derived,
destruction contrived.
Off-balance balance
replaced by tranquil skies
by placid lies.
Feet up,
laid back,
frets lack,
new knack:
No care,
cool stare,
going nowhere.
Life’s infinite treadmill
powered by last bursts
of light
a sight,
burning stardust,
ember distrust,
gasoline lust,
into Earth’s crust.