Freudian Slip

Washed up seashells house
more of infinity’s hope
than all of the tongue-
in-cheek banter we choose to
drown ourselves in while
microwaving new flavors

of cancer to gnaw
on. Parapraxis observes
our ego’s debonair stunts

© Christopher Rupley 2016

(This is one of several beautiful Eastern forms of poetry called Waka. This particular form is named Choka, and the syllable count is 5-7-5-7-5-7…5-7-7). 

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