Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2016
For what it's worth I've come to find that people and things ****** over make like lead pockets. Old business is just old business and yet the mouth stays sour, curdles at its ends like milk left out. I wash my hair and wash it again.

How do you **** a city? Not a short-change of ideas or institutions. A city. People, granite columns. Street lamps. Long lines of wooden benches. Car horns.

Bags and bags of bug-out gear: drop point knife; feather-stuffed bedroll; one dozen pouches, depositories. The **** is the escape.

The drop point.

Some thing in all of us wants a way out. It aches for freedom. Messy, nasty freedom, sweet as it is.
Portions of this poem borrow words from various episodes of the TV series Mad Men.
Christopher Hendrix
Written by
Christopher Hendrix  Blue Springs, Missouri
(Blue Springs, Missouri)   
     Masked Voice and SPT
Please log in to view and add comments on poems