He remembers a
curvature too straight to exist, surreal
but a childhood in the bloodstream.
Listen to what must he say, listen to
what he cannot say.
With three steps, lock a reason with
the old scotch like his ink beneath
the table.
Screams followed the
futility that loved to linger by the
lines; screams sank in the lines too.

Out there in the cold, you and I,
A sacrifice and a song.

Brown and black mark the day
of the deceased, the celebration
is in full swing and the band awaits
the midnight gown. The masks
have plucked the stars, so let’s begin.

Before the fountain drowns the
accordion’s laughter, take a second
to bow before the corrupted sighs.
Lick the ash and bleeding thorns,
there is never too less for a soul.

She will summon your darkened half,
so stitch your tears to the body and go.
Remember the routes that your sins
have carved, so ignite your last wish
to lead you beyond the world undone.

They speak in impious ink, the leftover
froth denies to be swallowed, but
stand there to help them gulp down
the lifeless. Help them tear the flesh,
help them gnaw at your breath.

©️Rooh

I am a work in progress
a public draft
often edited
for the wrong reasons
by the wrong  people
with the worse grammar

-Custodio

I remember the day like it was yesterday;
the temperature was 7 below zero by 7 A.M.
Then it was 13 below, and at 7:25 A.M.
on Friday, Feb. 9, 1934, the coldest temperature-
ever for New York City was recorded.

Believe it or not that is not the reason
I remember that day;
it was the day she walked in my office.

She had the kind of look that made a man's-
and a few women's mouths drop open.

Like I said a real looker,
5' 8' endowed with more curves and-
hair pin turns then the Pacific Coast Highway.
Eyes crystal blue, hair platinum blonde
(without the bottle)
she was well put together for sure.

When she spoke;
the words that came out-
of her ruby red lips
made you want to slap her
and kiss her all at the same time.