The Sound of Ink

I bloom in the back of his mind where tea leaves speak and blood is thicker than tears. He walks hat tipped in salute to every dreamer that catches my silhouette in the wink of his words. Pin striped lanky limbs struggle to keep him centered, but I am the ink writing him out of his mind. There’s no warning when a pen breaks a glass heart, or madness finds a mirror. Love is never born from common sense. ©Susie Clevenger 2019 This poem first appeared in Visual Verse  and was inspired by the artwork of   Craig Carry The photo I used here is by  Alex Fu  via Pexels. Real Toads ~ The Tuesday Platform

Trying to subdue my passion for feral with pretty color baths of tame sunshine invites rebellion. Prepare to address scratch marks when you reevaluate your capabilities regarding domestication. ©Susie Clevenger 2019 The Sunday Muse #65

I travel heavy and keep secrets in deep pockets of my skull. Every broke down town has bottle therapy if you have enough green in your wallet to pay for the prescription. Some like to drink until they're empty. I tequila to the edge of my teeth, and give the beer crew just enough sad song to keep the waitress collecting tips. I like to wear yellow, collect blue, and keep whispers at arm’s length… If I don’t answer your questions, take it personally. My wheels don’t turn on your dime. ©Susie Clevenger 2019 I don't know why this sounds like a trucker speaking, but my muse went there. The Sunday Muse #64

There’s a lot of flesh and blood in his harmonica, long nights of burnt days, and prayers carrying him to the crossroads with the devil on his back. He testifies about his dark side in blue notes walking their way toward redemption until the liquor congregation pours another amen. He was a lot of things… Is a lot of things. He pours past and future through one day at a time into music that helps every listener carry their own story. ©Susie Clevenger 2019 The Sunday Muse #62 Real Toads ~ The Tuesday Platform