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