jasmine maddock Poems

I would not let the domestics go anywhere near
The secret cache of spoons I compulsively horde
In my compulsive drawer. This is where I
Keep items that I compulsively amass, Lord
...

There's a fly on your back
it moves like its on a track
dancing to Shakatak
jumps and gives you a heart attack
...

There's a rusted old man worn down with age
calloused and harassed a rough old sage
piercing eyes scorched wrinkled by the sun
hands in his pocket as if to say sod it
...