Mick Tomlinson Poetry

there are dogs caught inside of cars-       hot summer heat       hot heads pant pant pant they'd drink themselves to death if they could, chew their way through impossible upholstery, but instead, death looks at them the way a flower sees the sun for the first time, growing tall through piercing pain.

i'm sharing things found face down             while drowning - i - cant - feel - myface anymore, but then again thats whut happens when holding ur breath                  hoping for rescue waiting for silver bullet to break thru impenetrable wolf skin. i'm sharing black feathers                   broken crow                   its a mad world we live in. we both try to write poetry like an interlude to a movie - where - every'n - dies but nobody cries, they all sit awkwardly punching popcorn into head holes while try'n not to breathe. this is the movies. tits out & misbehavin' in the back row while drug addicts pinch veins - dyin' & tryin' to look alive.                     they say                     if you sit too c...

i am not beautiful - actually i look quite unsightly when i present myself to the queen at the grocery store where i buy my bottles of tonic and Tums. somebody please save me from the blood underneath my skin. it feels contemptuous at best, boiling like a bad day sun. i am the hardship your mom warned about. that thrashing beast who plays guitar when people try to sleep. that goddamn bastard no good son of a bitch, that's me in all my glory, drunk-fucked and liberated, wanting to love you the way nobody ever did.

he came up for air - we all held our breath as he slurped oxygen for the first time, as though being born. we heard the song in his mouth, a chorus of bent light forcing its way through gaping serenity. upon a thin weed, warm air blows and grows into a field of tempting pleasure. we all watch him, wondering if our hardship of holding him hostage is coming to an end. i've learned to drown the emotion i attached to this figure we call father. this impossible man - dead poet, pulling lightning from air and charging us with involuntary manslaughter. his anger must pass over our graves, before we release him back into the world where we first found him.

i have a sister, well, more like- she's a part of my brain         a soft snail who lost her shell and now hides here among us writing positive poetry about God and goodness and sudden sobriety. i try to be nice but i can't stand her presence.         she invades us without a warrant and isn't welcome here in our home-head. when she sleeps, i take out my dick and stick it in a toaster while eating toothpaste.         i hope she wakes up one day and sees how clean my teeth are, packs up her pretty party and moves along.

You hold me as though I'm the best part of your life, and you don't even know what this means to me. To feel your hands around me, not wanting to let go. Sometimes you use me all night long, filling me with vodka and joy while getting drunk in livings rooms and backyard parties and every other place you take me. My love, mi amore... you are what keeps me feeling wanted. When you unbagged me for the first time I knew we'd be together, carrying on the way drunk lovers do.. me & you.. always and forever.

standing in line at Panera hate gawking the menu nothing on it looks worth all the money- skin crawl cancellation fee- will it be more dignified if i feign sickness? cough cough oh.no.this.muthafucka gonna kill granny gonna kill Panera okay so maybe i should just bend over fake tie my shoe then make a run for it- these days, all kinda reasons to run. could be an active shooter- face and body parts splattering- women screaming, cuck men ducking under tables, or could be i just don't wanna pay ten dollars for a bacon avo melt.