Spitball Fury

    by Rawclyde!                                                                                                             ~

The small sphere

Hurls Ghost Face

Deeply into space

~

“Where did she go?”

He grits as the metal ball spins

Over Hong Kong

~

There’s so much space out here

His eyeballs

spin too

~

And his head flies off

Knocks around

Seeking a way out

~

His body goes thru a

Transformation

From weak to weaker

~

Slows down to such a degree that

His cantankerous head decides to sneak back onto

The top of his neck

~

Ghost Face secures it there

With a few pieces of duck tape

Leans on the stick

~

The spitball burps

farts &

Speeds forth

~

(Text Copyright Clyde Collins 2016)

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Spiritualities

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I met a woman

she wasn’t there

not even air

words & pictures made of light

~

She was

what I have come

to behold

a spirituality

~

Alas, our fingertips danced

oceans apart

something was there

besides air

~

Words bounced around

balls of silly putty

‘tween us & then poof!

she was gone

~

She had a whip

and a smile

to employ

in a dark place

~

But I saw something

completely different

in the lady’s

smiley face

~

T’was

an

angel

a spirituality

~

These pictures

they’re made to steal

with a click

do with them what you wish

~

But there are consequences

yes, she’s here, she’s gone

touched yet untouched

an internet spirituality

~

Beautiful warm

so vibrant & real

hair flowing, shoulders with

a smooth firm curve

~

Eyes of color of soul

make my heart glow

make my words bounce

across the sea

~

Silly

putty

spirit-

uality!

~

Another woman come along

smoothly chirping

a bubbly brook

a fluttering floating song

~

For what is she looking?

fingertips deftly dive into my pocket to find

the prayer of a tramp

a coin-less hole

~

An exquisitely well mannered dove

she too welds a whip

but it’s for me to use on her

I won’t, I can’t!

~

Click

whoa!

I find pictures more pictures

pictures galore

~

She’s born-again gorgeous

has no whip

nor

is she a whore

~

She’s simply there

dressed up & dressed down

in a thousand dresses

for any old horn-dog clown

~

She

is

Catholic

as can be

~

And I am

old

poor

yet free

~

Beloved spiritualities

flitting in & out of

my eye ~ how can I

not love you?

~

Love ~ is it

really there, really here

made not of brick

made not of air?

~

from Rawclyde!

~~~

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~~~