Look it
the **** up

I just did
"archaic"

Feel that
like an angry poem

crawling up your
esophagus

it wants out
and into

your ear
cover 'em

retch into night
small words

their letters
spread

and you know
these hands

don't you
know this soul

wannabe wretched
in ease

solidarity

a sandwich
only i can eat

you
you are not

here
may never 'ave been

here

I will be
here soon

i only hope
for you

to someday
be struck

as i've been
become bereft

as i am
of yesterday's content

Copyright@2018 Dennis Willis