Steven Adelman

Rookie (3/20/90 / Boulder, Colorado)

Play Dead - Poem by Steven Adelman


This isn’t a poem

The funny thing about this high
Is that I can barely even tell it exists
Let alone intoxicate me.
Sitting legs extended garage floor
April 7th, the spring ladys are out
And amongst us swollen in woes
Of their own demise,
(but their recent birth- or noticing-
Hasn’t gone Unnoticed!)

-Head mutted, brain,
I know its these damned chemicals
That makes it all go away
But with all comes everything
Sometimes words too
Vowels and phrases and I miss it!

I’ve always enjoyed it quite modestly,
I always thought of myself as a gentleman intellect
dabbling with words
Knowing the trick
Poems come from a candle stick!

Its easy sometimes
When your just floatin around
All accidental like on a breeze
Or spaced in time under the trees
With thoughts you forgot for a while

Virtual songbird at first glance
And it’s only an experience
When you can sing a song
Or play the Dead all night long

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 10, 2010

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