Cold pumpkin seeds are melting on

my taste buds like the snowflakes on

a hot Ferrari bonnet in the sun. My

mousetrap mind creates a cenotaph of

faded floral tributes to

the heroes who would not return my calls.

The ring upon my back is pulled. I

mouth the same old vows that

never meant a thing to those that

Pilgrim's Progress left behind. An

acid rain has driven me

indoors to play with matchbox cars that

never seem to live up to

the scale of life's perfection.

I split the atom with a pattern on

the drums I found outside the hall of

no regrets where they were left to

rot by those who squat and quake

inside the square. The mushroom cloud

reminds me of the days of wine and roses.

more of my FREE VERSE POEMS here