The Million Dollar Poetry Project

Seasoned

by Wolfgang Nibori

the desert is a death gaze rattlesnake
won’t look away and it will not blink
it’s got a black tongue, flip you off two ways
the desert is a death gaze rattlesnake
makes a sound so low you’ll never forget
a song so long that the tune goes flat
there’s a hive of people, swarm like bees
cloud the sky with rising unchained dreams
got a blue metal sting, two miles wide
the desert is a death gaze rattlesnake
the babies eat spiders before they are born
white as vampires who never slide tired
a gun on the hip with a ghost in the heart
sucks all fires dry before they can start
trouble crawls off, leaves a blood powder trail
it knows not mercy and it knows not pain
the desert is a death gaze rattlesnake
it doesn’t give a shit what you think

This poem for sale: 18 lines = $18.00

Bookmark to:

Serpentine Conversationsss

by Wolfgang Nibori

aye, says the Old One with a wink, you my child have figured me out
it’s what you grow for to make these connections
to take my place you’ll gradually become me
you’ll shed your youth like a snake’s old skin
be a brand new bright shiny adult, slithering towards maturity
you’ll hunt for what you need to eat and i don’t mean food
what i mean is a constant means by which to expand yourself
you swallow difficult things and stew on their properties
you’ll disassemble what you’ve been fed and shed
whatever you find worthless and unwholesome
and throughout the years you’ll grow if you want to
until you yourself are that sparkling-eyed snake
crafty enough to charm a new generation into
becoming what you will be and I am already

This poem for sale:14 lines = $14.00

Bookmark to:

you’ll never guess

by Wolfgang Nibori

coal-eyed cobra on the other side of the glass
despite the smoke and mirrors, sense your intention
no secret, the swaying way you go about injection
maybe there’s a little part of her that applauds
at the cocksure display of carelessness
of the many layers of painted lies across a truth
only takes a cyclops to capture the spray
how many years will pass before all nostalgia

This poem for sale: 8 lines = $8.00

Bookmark to: