Pit Spawn

Can I make a plea

For a frontal lobotomy?


My head aches

For my withered heart.


Leaden limbs locate

The next choco-lift

As my brain fumbles

For fuzzy sentiments.


I’m constrained.

Squished beneath your palm,

Tightly bound

Under someone’s thumb.


You put me on autopilot

To avoid a riot

I swerve and smile

To a puppeteer’s style.


I love Japan

I love every man

And, I really want to say

Your land is so beautiful.


My plastic prison

Keeps me here.

Credit card crunchies

Lloyd Bank’s munchies.


You put me on autopilot

Sent me to the Hyatt

Your robotic foreigner

Left in the corner.


I flower and smile

Feeling mercantile

As I forlornly,

Prostitute my goodwill.


Give me reason

Give me a chance

Give me wings

And the purpose they bring.


I flower for you

I try for you

I work for you

I live with you

I talk to you

I try to help you.


I am nothing to you.

So, just so you know.

All my flowers are plastic.


3 Responses to “Pit Spawn”

  1. How I have missed your poetry… there is a directness and a modern voice which so many try and fail at. The subtle English idiosyncrasies that fit in with a flow, so that it may be read on multiple levels is always a joy. YAY! Wulfstan!! haha – still chuckling as I am SO pleased to see you.

  2. The flowers may be plastic but your poem is alive with an injured compassion,a kind of grace.

  3. Thank you both. Its good to see you both again. Plastic Flowers are the fake emotions we give to make others feel better. Thank you for the ego boosts my friends.

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