Home Stead

Benjamin Jenkins, poem, poems, poetry, writing

I know your future is foretold

With blood, tears, and bottle caps of gold.

I know you wish you could move your lips.

Rather than speak through clenched teeth.

Thirty-six months by

My calculation makes a lifetime.

In homestead of poison

I consume caffeine.

In homestead of poison

I inhale flower buds.

 

I know everyone’s hand

Can curl into fist or hold.

I know Jacks, Queens, and Kings

Can make loose hands fold.

Thirty-six months by

My calculation makes a lifetime.

In homestead of poison

I consume caffeine.

In homestead of poison

I inhale flower buds.

 

I know every lie could appear white,

Arguing your way into an effortless goodbye.

I know on holidays

We’re supposed to swap vocal vibrations.

Thirty-six months by

My calculation makes a lifetime.

In homestead of poison

I consume caffeine.

In homestead of poison

I inhale flower buds.

 

I know ten years of fond memory

Fogs a forest of fifteen willows weeping.

I know fictional squirrel stories own

Responsibility for my prose and poetry.

Thirty-six months by

My calculation makes a lifetime.

In homestead of poison

I consume caffeine.

In homestead of poison

I inhale flower buds.

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2 thoughts on “Home Stead

  1. Ben, I am left with the feeling that a real poet, with as yet untapped power and authority is behind this poem. I like repetition, and the way it leads and builds to insight and to assertion that cannot be repressed.

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