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kyle-kulsethPoems
Halt our shallow breaths--          staccato fogs at the stoplights Cling precarious in cold like the frost on the stop signs. The streetlights keep on winking Winter's late but, now, it's sinking                                        into bones clawing coats          shut. Clutching                   wool to swollen throats I swore I'd never stand here again            at December's ******* doorstep-- ring the bell every weekend. I always circle back every year when I take the same old punches and wince when I hit play-back. Halt my raising glass         and analyze my afflictions: 28, alone and broke so cop to addictions, now. It's freezing--getting dressed you've question marks in your brown eyes It's hailing, breathing out Carry my bags of old goodbyes The walls just keep on shrinking But the outside's gonna swallow me                                     Eaten whole even bones.      Spit me out back on Mydland road I know I'll wind up back here again.          at December's ******* deathbed sleeping in every weekend Held all chips, played hands, drank a year then I pulled my vacant pockets, defrosted my losing bets Mea culpa. So long. Stay friends. *"Twenty-fucking-five to one,                       my gambling days are done. I bet on a horse called The Bottle of Smoke,                      and my horse..."* (Finer/MacGowan)
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Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
Gamblers' Phobias
Halt our shallow breaths--          staccato fogs at the stoplights Cling precarious in cold like the frost on the stop signs. The streetlights keep on winking Winter's late but, now, it's sinking                                        into bones clawing coats          shut. Clutching                   wool to swollen throats I swore I'd never stand here again            at December's ******* doorstep-- ring the bell every weekend. I always circle back every year when I take the same old punches and wince when I hit play-back. Halt my raising glass         and analyze my afflictions: 28, alone and broke so cop to addictions, now. It's freezing--getting dressed you've question marks in your brown eyes It's hailing, breathing out Carry my bags of old goodbyes The walls just keep on shrinking But the outside's gonna swallow me                                     Eaten whole even bones.      Spit me out back on Mydland road I know I'll wind up back here again.          at December's ******* deathbed sleeping in every weekend Held all chips, played hands, drank a year then I pulled my vacant pockets, defrosted my losing bets Mea culpa. So long. Stay friends. *"Twenty-fucking-five to one,                       my gambling days are done. I bet on a horse called The Bottle of Smoke,                      and my horse..."* (Finer/MacGowan)
kyle-kulseth
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kyle-kulseth
M/American
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
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