Meager men oozing desperationOver thirst traps and box gaps.They shoot their shot,Blowing their wad.Because words are cheap. Quasi-romanticTo outright lascivious,They run the gamut.Impotent in any event.Aiming to rise above the fray. Bottom feeders frenzyingOver derivative delusions.Proudly proclaiming (unawares)Inevitable incelity.Masquerading as dreamy and steamy men.
Nursing himself back to better feelingsWith another amber ale.It drowns last night’s dull acheAnd the taste of chips gone stale. This glass is unlike the others.This one holds all the keys.A lifetime cradling conventionBeats worn and weathered knees. The fizzy, familiar liftCounterbalances life fallen flat.A final sloppy slurp—“hasta mañana”—He shuffles across the frayed doormat.
Another round of validation, provenDevoid of real reciprocity.The moth-eaten gossamerConcealed not the trap. Muddied waters aren’t deep—They are unmoving and tepid.There may be mystery,But there is no awe. No one slakes their thirst thereExcept in desperation,Because predators lie in waitNear the banks of stagnancy.
788 nights—Some of them not his alone. Exceptions—Silence softened. Sometimes shattered. Laughter filled the space.(Could it be trusted?)Touches told new stories.But still, one side was his. The void required no reservation.He kept one anyway. Saving a spot for what?Memories? Ghosts?Promises? (noble bullshit?) The 789th night—A brittle leaf, breezing right,Freed from the branch of old habits.Loosed…
A folk sermon by the proudly misinformed Look here, Puddintame,I’ll tell you the same.Diversity’s a curse,And Equity’s worse.Inclusion?Sinister collusion. Now hush, Clementine,Lemme lay it on the line.Hear me condescend,My young and foolish friend.𝘈 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘥𝘰𝘮’𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘢𝘳. Again, Puddintame,The world’s gone insaneAnd it’s taken you with it.You gotta admit it:The world’s done went…
They scratched the words into vellum,But left the meaning subject to change.These foundations were laid in liberty,Yet fortified by their chattel in chains. Our fathers, despite their wisdom,Got so much of it wrong.But at least they had foresightTo permit rewrites as the years grew long. Of the people— Those who aren’t walking in fear,With nothing…
The first five were easyAnd the second not so bad.It’s the third five, I believe,That is not to be had. The fourth is the thirdAllover again.Never mind the fifth—Number three, to my chagrin. A shave, a gain, rinse and repeat.Repeat the third score.I’ve lost those same fiveA hundred times or more. The daily slog is…
She loves Jesus and whisky.I’ve gotten more out of the latter.I’ve dabbled enough in bothTo know the poison’s in the dose. Juxtapositions build intrigueYet her dichotomy is watered-down.Pious affirmations offer stale breadAnd my restless soul remains unfed. She loves Jesus and whiskey.I prefer the Devil’s cut to the angel’s share.One ushers in trust, the other,…
She stood there over his body,Wiping blood from her noseAnd letting her tears dry. Still, she stood, over his body,With a claw hammer in her fistAnd a prayer of retribution in her heart. He’d gone too far countless times.How was this time any different?This time she was finally broken. She would kill him.What about the…