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ode to firsts
By Sylvia Jones
Although, all the world still waits to see what we shall become.
Uncanniness isn’t wit.
It’s being stuck in traffic faithlessly prepared, unfollowing at dangerous distances.
nonrenewable, your DNA.
to give a speech 2 strangers.
No puns yet, a typical galaxy centered around black Irish twins, our west brighton good news saved revolt fugeela labor laws
untethered to epidermal moon signs, stipend dependent.
I made this to help us fall back asleep.
certain curtains don’t count. psyche ya mind suffrage booty shine.
Listen violently as each door closes.
Spring agility, 2nd degree generation explicit subtitles not so called. rather concise.
Better known as nerves. feverish cities staged, picked up and shaken.
expunged heat a reminder to keep on neglecting the forecast.
previous forward dark-haired all nighter ants.
my hand is memorabilia it marches on, idle visual protest. magic alibis
umbrellas yet to be built.
baptized, icy rain topics every thaw.
Never starts with goodbye, BOGO sanctions.
low key drones, their last minute RSVPs
our bee colony amber alerts, our rude.
found items and wild ideas
collecting helicopters as people
& crocodile tears as things.
Hybridity alien spawn & not so smooth talkers, The last to fess up to any epidemics.
a door drenched in sunlight.
weighted bridge and tunnel folk,
because because because culture we are indulgent.
Sylvia Jones is currently a college student living in Richmond, Virginia.
#Poetry #Ode #CreativeWriting