“Aftertaste” by Scott Sparks

My heart labors for what cannot be savored
In the brig in which I sit, I’ve flossed and spit out many flavors
Concrete is hard and motionless
Much like the obstacles waging war within my chest
Signals on my sonar suggest I won’t make it very far
Unless I’m mindful of each test meant to reset the proverbial bar
Deep breaths, in this abyss, thus far I’ve been blessed
However, a flotation device should’ve been on my list from the start
I’m not lost because a beacon has blinked the breadth of this season
Things I find displeasing shrink and are shredded after dark
Lapping waves menacingly caress, hoping to leave me directionless
There hasn’t been one yet that’s brought my rudder any real harm
In the brig where I sit, I’ve flossed and I’ve spit
How I will labor for the next flavor
No doubt it’s better than this


—Scott Sparks

About richardfyates

Compulsive creator of the bizarre and absurd. (Artist, writer, poet, provocateur...)
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