Fibonacci Sequence Poems
notice the syllabic pattern
The Road To Discovery Has Excessive Pot-holes “I Know Where I’m Going next,” Is a lie that we Tell when we want to eat dinner With Out Too Many Questions. They Stare, Those eyes Belonging To parents of lost Spoiled brats, thumb-twiddlers, generation Z The House At the End of Pot-hole Road I’d Like To stay. In one place, At one time, just one. Permanent address, boring nights In Oth- Er words, Constancy. Knowing where you land, Landing where you know, in due time I Can See the Wallpaper Already see it Please. Let me occupy these walls Let Me Glue and Strip, and paint And own something true Head to pillow, just me and her: My House. A home unspoken, But written against counter tops. My House, No one Else’s, not Hers, you know the one. Definitely not hers, just mine. I Don’t Know when I’ll get there, But when I do, trust That it won’t be empty for long. That Forbidden Hellscape Between Teen and Adult Don’t Come Over. If you come, You’ll wade through the lost laundry and pimple patches You’ll Get Distract- Ed by the Mirrors with black ink Over where my head meets the glass. You’ll Walk Home, filled With regret And wishing that you Never come back to this hellscape. Real Ones Ask you “Come over?” But I am not real Inconsolable, not touching Leave Me Here to Sulk in my Stinky, safe, haven Where nothing burns like avoiding.
Wow!