Gas Poem by Janine Alyssa Navarro

Gas



It was hours, days, months that flew by

Not a single dew of poetry-ridden madness

rushed through my glad tank.

It was like a parchment waiting,

For insertion of a witty word to fuel the rest.

The absence of such discretion

Intrigues the spaces in my mind.

Oh, was “inspiration” the answer?

If so, let’s rephrase the question.

With various cross-marks and indigestive scratches

I unfold dysfunction, not art.

It is my desire to rid of this thirst,

To glide with this song…

But it remains a melody with no words…

Like comfort in oblivious suffocation

Of love and its vomit.

In silence I seek to trace my way

back to my imaginative disorder.

I agree with a hesitant stomach,

That with love and its crud components

Anyone is made a poet.

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