Turrets, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)

Swivel and pivot,
Nothing to aim at
Pill box I hide in

I am done in
Arrows in the bullseye
I am about to die

A ribbon of jackets
I wear over a surplice
That does not exist

I feed it, it spits
Watermelon seeds
Or sunflower, high speed

The graveyard I see
Makes dust of thee
Decay rapidly

The turrets bleed
The seasons grieve
My mind deceived

The termite tree
Maggots eat
All of me

I cannot see
Cannot see
What is left of me.

Strictly a poem of metaphor. It is about how one can be chewed up by paparazzi and social media and sometimes fighting back seems futile.


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