Philip Byron Oakes
3 poems
**
The Next to Nothing
Incomparably shoulder to shoulder to cheek turned traitor, one gondola ride away into the sunset. Killing fleas to punish the rats, for their roles in plaguing teacher with gnawing pains, a procreative glory in the corn. A corrected course still lost at sea, for the time being the burden it is. A silky transgression of gestures compiled into a stance, between the blind spots defending the flanks with the ignorance of bliss. A whetted appetite for nonchalance in stalking the residuum of dusk, into the darkness as an answer to the eerie calm. The break of day into pieces, stacked in parody of the vertical to nip the falling of the skies in the bud; that is the acorn from which the oak tree grows, to shade the forest of the woolly from the judgments of the obliterative sun.
**
Coming Round & Round
A slippery remittance getting
back to where it stands to reason.
Illustriously, minus the gold stars
twinkling in conformity to a
contract. Social, in the viral sense,
of taking the pain for granted as
a friend. A stark acquaintance,
dying for a taste of the whole
of the enchilada, the apogee
of the bottomless in licking lips
for clues, as to the existence of
flavor in the abandoned
caucus of the crows.
**
Road to Recovery
Bottoms up a ladder descending, into depths the heights can elevate to pertinence by laying low. A map to where it hurts only yourself. An aura of verbs running circles, squared to barren in the distance covered. Clashing with colors for the blind. A perfect harmony of lesions outlining a synopsis for getting well. Having lost both legs in the search for a rock upon which to stand in line with others. Credence in the counting backwards to one fine day. An easy getaway past the suburbs of a saga, condemning the present to life in the aftermath.
**
return to sawbuck 3.3
**
Philip Byron Oakes’ work has appeared in numerous journals, including Otoliths, Switchback, Cricket Online Review, Sawbuck and Taiga. His first volume of poetry, Cactus Land (77 Rogue Letters), is now available.
**
The Next to Nothing
Incomparably shoulder to shoulder to cheek turned traitor, one gondola ride away into the sunset. Killing fleas to punish the rats, for their roles in plaguing teacher with gnawing pains, a procreative glory in the corn. A corrected course still lost at sea, for the time being the burden it is. A silky transgression of gestures compiled into a stance, between the blind spots defending the flanks with the ignorance of bliss. A whetted appetite for nonchalance in stalking the residuum of dusk, into the darkness as an answer to the eerie calm. The break of day into pieces, stacked in parody of the vertical to nip the falling of the skies in the bud; that is the acorn from which the oak tree grows, to shade the forest of the woolly from the judgments of the obliterative sun.
**
Coming Round & Round
A slippery remittance getting
back to where it stands to reason.
Illustriously, minus the gold stars
twinkling in conformity to a
contract. Social, in the viral sense,
of taking the pain for granted as
a friend. A stark acquaintance,
dying for a taste of the whole
of the enchilada, the apogee
of the bottomless in licking lips
for clues, as to the existence of
flavor in the abandoned
caucus of the crows.
**
Road to Recovery
Bottoms up a ladder descending, into depths the heights can elevate to pertinence by laying low. A map to where it hurts only yourself. An aura of verbs running circles, squared to barren in the distance covered. Clashing with colors for the blind. A perfect harmony of lesions outlining a synopsis for getting well. Having lost both legs in the search for a rock upon which to stand in line with others. Credence in the counting backwards to one fine day. An easy getaway past the suburbs of a saga, condemning the present to life in the aftermath.
**
return to sawbuck 3.3
**
Philip Byron Oakes’ work has appeared in numerous journals, including Otoliths, Switchback, Cricket Online Review, Sawbuck and Taiga. His first volume of poetry, Cactus Land (77 Rogue Letters), is now available.
Labels: 3.3, philip byron oakes
