He didn’t sit alone, but with himself.
The chatter filled his glass -
lemon, fennel, cumin -
as he toasted with smoke and hog,
‘to the curious case of the dog in the nighttime.’
Category: Poetry
The poetic expression of my artistic and aesthetic pillars along with some choice mixed-media.
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Dank
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Sob Her
Sobriety's a bitch.
I try
to love her
with all I have
and still
she calls me a
cheating bastard. -
Reiff
Viola, you poor, indentured thing. When they say 100% cranberry; they **mean** it! Barely a step above chalk. Or was that line drawn in sand? Look hard enough, and one can nearly always find a few options for insanity.
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Dis-Top[Ea]
This reality: not the bright-eyed shoot-em-up gallery they promised, not nearly as nice as the dusty menagerie foreseen. Orange, plastic caps land in the doorway of cardboard market stalls.
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Thank.
Thank you for the gift: your stale breath on my pillow after you’ve gone. What cockleburs become sweet comforts in the fresh winter parallel glow.
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Preposterous Ponderings: Veni, Vidi, Vici
You’ll live,
or you won’t,
those are really your two
options. -
Let Her
I wrote you a letter I could never mean. Trial and error - the survivalist mantra: blessed are the meek. In another era, closed captioning open for grief. Down hung heavier - cycles more vicious than obscene. My rock-tied tantra sunken beneath a murky green.
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Amaze
Twisted and devouring itself, this soul, like Midguard’s serpent, into Deadalus’ shop of horrors - trapped. Fading faster with each death.
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glass stones
High brow, high tower, high people. A grass fed, half-cocked, cockamamie conjecture. 10,000 hours so I know what I’m doing. Shiny metal belt; leather hypersexual. Hints to a treasure like steam wafting to dogshit.
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8 Carrots
A horrific popularity contest where everyone’s obsessed with saying the last great thing. So, this is what healing looks like? Another scab to contradict unrealistic totems. Gilded, not gold.
Scribbles 'n Bits 