Bedbugs XI

Bedbugs XI





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Click here for last week's Bedbugs.






Realizing I'm back in the wooden room I started in.
Repeats on the box and in life; rhythm that can give one
pause pulses forth from all the walls in beats and matter
and time painted to match what everyone else
thinks. Hummingbird heart attack wasted on acid
seems to be the beat it drives out. Motors are
heard in the sky; mechanical fractions at an inconceivable
temperature pressure all of them to JUST FIT IN!
Working late, alone. Red jewels being teased above your
head as a lifebribe. How many rings on one hand do you plan
to understand whether tricking, cackling intentions
measured by one's decided self-worth.
The sun finally comes out; pan across the street for a
reason. Three of them are there. They had
been men, too. Make her believe
one of us was right. Exuberantly climbing warped, splintered
steps, we throw every door open only to see
it leads to the place we came from.
DISAGREE. The only way out. Buttons are fastened
in the proper places, and hopefully all of us
will find expecting a fleet of red petals below..







Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:







-broken clocks keep better time
-primary colors washed out
-fillings made of wood
-take her home already
-glowing a sort of orange tone
-what else can I tell you
- make no mistake; it's yours.

click here for next week's Bedbugs.
-Adam Barnick