Poems you've written

Hey /book/, I wrote a poem last night. Your thoughts?

Shitting turds into an ivory toilet basin
By Anon

Imagine a place
where fear is a virtue,
and mind readers
a crime.

1873 was the year Judas died.
He had always wanted
to seek knowledge
and scientific
enlightenment
through empathy and momentary
foreseeability.
His dream was not vitiated.

A pair in the bush can mature
to much more,
but one in the hand
will be quickly extinguished,
its life forces ripped out
in a ruby-brown haze.

TIME

Time,
My time,
Is but a piece,
The merest smithereen,
Of wax.

Sky-spewed and fallen,
Up...!
On a lowly, mitey termight,
Whose grace is suffering,
INHALATION
OCCLUSION
An oesophageal tract's contraction action.

He is choking,
Up...!
On the splinters.