Pins And Needles Poem by Kevin Patrick

I am a pin among needles
Clamouring for supremacy
Within a junkyard asylum
Where to win is a treadmill
Of repetitious manoeuvres
Heading forever in saucer
Towards the high peaks of matte paintings
Conveying the false felicitations
Of the ringmasters intrigues
Conspired in suited hyperbole
Through the tip of the whip that tortures desires
Through my magnetic obsessions
And deprecated occupations
That polarizes my character
Into the disconnected hemispheres
Lingering in vertices of static hope and wedded fear

Passive aggressive is the flame
In which the third stone rides the train
And I staire drifting in a crowded shadow
Stepping over the ground of a thousand paper cuts
Across a bad-mannered ocean
Bruised as I ceil the astronauts world
Fulfilled in the portrait
Of disintegrating ambitions
And mythological delusions
That becomes my descendents
of broken dreams in hearts of clay
Never crafted into shape
while disaster orchestrate
my behaviours neutered well
Like Newton's cradle ricocheting
Pins and Needles in the hay
In which everything becomes the same

as Persona non Grata