"detonation" poems
a body filled with familiar dread
you might say my body is already dead
my head is said to be quite fretful
took moments of quietude for granted;
and now i’m constantly regretful
the restlessness of my emotions
address my state of mind
and the distressed thoughts run around my head like guerrilas
they know they are running out of time
my jittery heart runs rampant
like a broken clock
and my only wish is for all of this to stop
the apprehension creates a detonation
a complete eradication of my elation
because my body is filled with familiar dread
and my body feels like it’s already dead
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 9:04 PM UTC
Tick tock, Tick tock, Tock Tock ticking
Clocks cluck, catching curious cries
Several seconds slide, slowly sticking
Eclectic evil ever eager to eat out eyes
Tock tock, tick tick Tock
danger dances down, depicting doom
Hands hold hearts heavily in hock
aren't all able to articulately assume?
Clock is currently counting costs
justifying jumps and juggling jacks
tabulating time that is tossed
lightening liberal lust and loving lax
tick tick tick, tick tick tick
destination is a detonation despised
tock tock tock, tock tock tock
sheep sleep soundly shrouded, so surprised
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
*In memory of, and with respect to the victims of the 2011 terrorist acts in Norway.
As the weather resembles, one remembers...*
Perhaps if you went to my school,
You'd have gotten beaten up for your egocentricity
Long before it grew to such deranged preportions.
As misplaced as the runes you carved into Glock and rifle;
You'd have been not only estranged, but broken.
Disarmed decades before detonation.
Alas. A distorted berserker you ploughed through
Establishments and hearts; an armed teenager fuelled on
Video games, soft candy and steroids.
Pity the nation that nurses such an unpoetic national enemy.
We forgot your name and face, as you never knew ours.
The symbol we chose was an ocean of roses,
Like torches held to our love unharmed.
Norwegian leap year two-thousand-eleven;
Only twenty-two days in July.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
When I'm near you I'm anxious.
At any moment I can explode.
A coloration of floral hues printed across the sky,
Covering you; the night.
Appropriately expanding.
A sizzle awaiting detonation.
Catapulted high.
Nothing to do but fall.
Fall in love with you.
Plummeting down unable to sit still.
Your hand the stripe that surrounds me.
Stars; echo in a crackle.
Change is inevitable.
The glory of being held close,
Counting every second until we burst into pieces.
Wandering around your essence.
Wandering in turquoise yellows & purple strawberries exhaled in smoke.
The moon forever jealous
Every night July everlasting.
The closer I get to you
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 9:43 PM UTC
Atomic energy is a good thing contemplated the good scientist
But only for us good people to forget
Lincoln's, Hemingway's and Madame Curie's silent voices echoes from the sidewalk
Where people idly passes by; lost in tall low fat Frappuccino’s
Looking and hoping then ultimately wishing for a visit from Benjamin Franklin
Unwittingly employed by all the dead presidents
These days’ people know the price of everything
But the value of nothing
Makes me gallivant; my own memory warehouse
As I pose this question towards my own psyche;
What is the worst thing I have ever done?
In the name of personal achievement career elevation and prosperity
All everyone ever wants to be is successful rich and richer
Oppenheimer colleague put our modern society in to perfect perspective
Post detonation of the Trinity project - after the first nuclear test
When he gracefully quoted
"Now we are all son of *******
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 3:05 PM UTC
Your taste runs like kerosene in my veins,
Our kisses, heated, sending my insides aflame;
I spontaneously combust, lover.
Skin to skin, your mouth is concentrated sin
You make lose my morals, the lust is building;
Blinding, my pupils burn;
Yours darken with something primal, tensions thickening;
The anticipation's sinking
right into my gut, I feel your touch
calloused fingertips dancing up my thighs, teasing.
Your body glistening
with sweat, trailing down south
I follow the track hungrily with my mouth
but it doesn't seem enough.
Our hearts beat fast like the ticking
of a timebomb nearing detonation;
We're going to detonate, my love.
We're going to burst in fancy colors like fireworks gone haywire,
the bed is our sky.
We're going to get lost among the sheets,
like sailing across familiar seas.
The moonlight, dangerously bright
they seem to shine from your eyes
but they darken with something like clouds on a stormy night.
And I'm not sure if there really is a God
but tonight I kept calling his name
yours interspersed in between
heavy breathing, our pants sounding
like broken notes of some orchestrated masterpiece
and the crescendo's nearing.
Our pulse following the rising melody
I am mesmerized, out of control
I am lost amidst the euphoria
right now
with you
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 12:05 AM UTC
Sterling eyes close the falling red ward
Big Brother has seen it all
He tells me: *there is danger
Terror past the massive, all-protecting Atlantic*
Don’t stray there, the mouth
of stumbling heads say,
They want to take away
Our safety, our ways, our Freedom
Mr. Elected reassures
*Nothing will harm you
Not with me going there
I don’t want you going there*
He speaks like my mom
Warning me of the illicits
I am too vulnerable to experience
It’s death I’ll go to- I’ve been told
Sleepless red monocular
Enlightening the air to a passive blue
It’s opacity beneath and above
Ascending again
Mama and Baba say it’s time to go home
I confront the arid peninsula of Qatar
Lungs accustomed, vitality not frozen
Precariously perceiving the harmful
Sentiments of years past in Jordan,
I wonder why
my kin would ban this place
Rumor on dirt pavement in a draft, ears picking up
*The Atlantic is not to be crossed,
A lack of morals, malintentions
lay beyond the scape.*
Extravagant grenade above,
Falling to the horizon
And no detonation, collapsing behind a curved veil
Skyward lay the remnants
Of heat, frozen in time
The lips in a box on this shoreside
Warn *the zephyrs from the ornery
Reaches towards our home
Be on guard of the deceitful
star at night that rains red*
Tomorrow may not be there
My blood brothers of Lebanon say,
But I wait, field of vision
aligned to the east
Aural stumbles translate, articulating
My brethren begin their search of food
And in too many moments unnoticed,
Black on bottom, red on the low, blue slowly suffocating the obscurity above
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
I do not believe in fairytales, so be straight,
Experience was present, and it's worth the faith.
I do not want to rely, on repeating hopes in oblivion,
If promises were prayers, I don't have religion.
Continuing is just a self-detonation, prolonging the agony,
blaming myself, living life hard sadly.
I am seeing the inequality, on every angle and scopes,
sometimes I am thinking hanging my neck on the ropes.
and as I blame,
negative tendency,
occurs.
comes, sudden,
unexpectedly.
but,
when I see you, negativity's gone,
my inspiration's overflowing,
keeps me away from frown.
but,
when I see you, my depth dissapears,
and all of a sudden,
I want to lend an ear,
but,
when I'm with you, my heart skips a beat,
I step out of my seriousness,
in your cup, I sitdown and take a sip,
but,
when I'm with you, I want to listen
I want to know you further,
overlaps, to what they're just seeing,
to hear every stories told, with your cheerful voice,
your warmth, that caresses my body,
builds up my poise,
transcends a choice, to be happy or not,
I forget all my worries,
and say I'm a little pessimist, but
..I am looking forward,
to stay this way,
for as long, as we both can,
complete our days.
Apr 25, 2011
Apr 25, 2011 at 6:18 AM UTC
I’ve summed up the equation for my isolation
It's People who look up, look down, left and right
Desperate for information
We never looked inside for much needed inspiration
Instead,
We lead a life of impulsive behavior mixed with preoccupation for our own reputation
I've lost toleration for the weak minded population
Individual thoughts slowly decay and eventually cut off circulation
Sending thoughts on permanent vacation, worthy of respiration, ideas now suffer suffocation
If this is my "generation"
I’d rather live in hibernation
You can take this as retaliation
I just don’t understand why we seek gratification for having no imagination?
I swear,
It’s like the world around me is nothing more Than telecommunication
Different voices yet the same conversation
Broad interpretation leaves room for destructive **********
Shedding uniqueness for trendy consolidation
**Who the **** do you think you are? a star?**
You're no constellation
You expel no illumination
Your personality is a narrow cultivation of
Seedy corporation,
Media publication,
And lack of moral stabilization
Let me give you clarification
Meditation is my detonation
Put words in your mouth before you die of starvation
We all have a fixation on giving into temptation
Putting ourselves in situations were
Passion is stimulation,
Trust is manipulation and
Love is ***********
Pour out your heartache in perspiration
After *********** we expect a standing ovation
*** is nothing more than sensation*
....are we lost beyond the point of navigation?
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 12:35 AM UTC
I forgot my sunglasses
I left them on the window pane
Left them far behind
I’ll never see them again
Now the sun will surely blind me
It’ll take away my sight
In day light I can’t see
Visions only good at night
I forgot my dignity
I lost it a long time ago
Please don’t pity me
Not at my all time low
Detonation
Levitation
Annihilation
I want to let go
Hold on, hold on to me
I want you all to know
What’s wrong
What’s wrong with me
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
~ Losing Innocence ~
Why do we risk it all for love?
No matter how exquisite,
Passionate, wonderful it is,
We lose;
Always.
Whether we part for differences or in death,
We lose;
Always.
No matter how much we try to hold on,
Change ourselves or our other,
Govern and protect the relationship,
We lose;
Always.
Thus, why do we do it?
We do it for the moments that will reside with us,
Always.
For the craze and lust.
The fury,
The fervor,
The obsession, infatuation, excitement.
For the zeal, enthusiasm, passion.
We do it for us;
To penetrate over into,
Our partner.
Me and You,
We wanted it all.
None of the pain,
Just the good stuff.
Well, we had it.
The good, the lovely.
What a surprise!
But then,
As Always,
We lost.
We lost ourselves,
Our way.
The rhythm and balance
We perfected.
How did we not see it coming?
Stumbling on to a new realm.
One in which we operate alone.
The composition wrecked.
We smashed into that brick wall.
Afraid to leave,
Co-dependent.
I knew you wanted out.
Maybe a break?
You opposed it.
We could not come back from it.
I could feel the coming loss.
But not in the way I expected.
A trip!
To get us back.
The excitement could mend us.
It did for 72 hours.
Then the ultimate force of depature
Came upon.
In a small elegant English hotel,
You died in my arms
On a Saturday morning in London.
Thirty five hundred miles away from home.
The initial shock blasted my mind and body.
The detonation of torment pierced my soul.
Unadulterated suffering terrorised.
I lost my equilibrium and steadiness.
Embarking in an unknown world,
Where the dwellers seethe with agony.
A spot was saved for me there,
Where fumes suffocate.
A Hell on Earth
Where Innocence is Lost.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 11:02 AM UTC
The barren landscape sends me shivers
Further enhanced by the total obliteration
The presence of ghosts still lingers
So many years after the detonation
All this desolation pictures
Like a scene from the apocalypse scriptures
A pale nuclear shadow projected eternally
The perpetual loss of harmony
A remnant showing us our absurdity
Was vaporised by the obfuscating bright
The ashen picture is the last goodbye
Relic of the tremendous light
My moods darken I want to cry
This is the last trace of a human being
a son of someone
prevented from further ageing
That from fate couldn’t run
Like a permanent echo of the disaster
a visual silent scream
like a photograph of a dreadful dream
a shout that sends a warning to us all
As we wish to forget how the balance is frail
It’s easy to disregard the detail
and be united by the same fate
that destruction at an even greater scale
it’s yet a threat not out of date
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 5:24 AM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a little straight slip of a thing,
red, a quartier inch wide,
red, a quartier inch thin,
suggestive, inquisitive,
a political and philosophical,
lovely provocation to conjecture
as if it were a colored arrow,
pointing strangely down,
instead of up,
to the next handhold
on a rock climbing wall,
in this case,
handholds on a
woman's body
this way,
follow me,
to the barricades!
a tourist mapped-path to follow,
visit the glories of the republic,^
and the charming Quartier Latin!
entrap and entice,
the eyes willful blinded,
taken away to thoughtful solitary,
on-one-side-only,
does the
bra strap
conveniently,
consciously,
haphazardly,
(yes, that's it,
a hazard,)
invitingly, speaks to,
looks to me,
inquiring will you vote,
RSVP to red?
as if a line of lipstick on the body drawn,
the directive points,
this way, perhaps,
always, just perhaps,
this way tourist,
to the dome of the pantheon,
where the statutes
are the course,
or perhaps
disguised, well-placed, statuesque, (ha!),
improvised explosive devices,
purposely presented,
needy for a desired
psychological high impact detonation
If
that is its purpose
under heaven,
under sweater,
under halter,
under cutoff gym top,
under liberty,
to tempt and remove
the blindfold from the womanly scales of
under justice
to tilt him favorably one way
If
it, is theater,
I, the audience
then whatever is on stage,
(Ibsen's Doll House, ironie délicieuse)
is a failed distraction, naught to naughty,
to no avail,
his eyes fastened, stapled wide
to the quarter inch thin
red path
from her slender shoulder,
leading, stepping him ****** down to
his I-magination,
for which unknowingly,
he, ticket purchased,
months ago for
two hours and one intermission
He must go again,
the show was
superbly acted,
for so the reviews said,
Ibsen's play,
"an unremitting portrayal of the suffering of a women"
^republic ~ a state in which the power rests in the body,
of those entitled to vote, exercised by their representatives, their eyes, chosen directly by and for them.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
Righteous Isis,
priceless queen, rife with green
vines winding between her lungs,
around her tongue, crowned with beams
of the ancient sun, power of Ra
beneath her thumb, life-giving wife,
wild child of reptiles, pride of the Nile--
righteous Isis,
she who gives birth to heaven and earth,
sovereign sorceress, steward of words,
my ancestress, blessed with flesh, this
bright protectress, next to death with
theft of her name, maimed by insane fanatics
grasping semi-automatics aimed at
righteous Isis,
spliced into terrorist crisis
situations, sacred name on a
radical federation, used for devastation,
appropriation of my divine mother,
brothers-in-arms killing the culture
of their own nations, of past generations, of
righteous Isis,
torn from her temple by
scorned fundamentalists,
prayers to her used to take
insurgent censuses
now when i bow to my goddess,
my empress, the powers suspect I'm a member of
rightist ISIS,
who crosses off competition
with crucifixion,
lays foundations for jurisdiction
with immolation, with detonation,
decapitation of journalists, their
murderous fists taking nations,
rightist ISIS,
whose power rests on the shoulders of dread,
men obsessed with erasing the names
of every goddess we hold close, of every man
who knows Mohammed did not preach death,
of every Buddhist, every Jew, every pagan, every Hindu,
choking the breath from those who don’t believe what they do--
rightist ISIS,
you think you own the sun but not this one,
not this pristine queen who tears the thunder from the skies,
and she will strike you down with pestilent blight
she'll smite you with a blistering light,
she'll drown you and ignite the tide,
and you will die with the second rise of
righteous Isis,
whose hand rocked the cradle of civilization,
whose shrines make the sacral heart of nations,
whose each breath gives divine illumination,
who shakes off the wasted shame
and patiently waits as we chant her names--
all ten thousand in glorification.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
Random mortar shells in the afternoon.
Sparkling, steel jacketed rain drops,
Glinting rainbows of reflected sunlight.
Plastic explosive seat cushions upon which passers-by,
Rest their weary bones.
C-4 candy bars, nuclear toothpaste,
****** for dessert.
Orphanage flambe', hospital hash, blood pudding.
Human burgers sizzling on a smart bomb bar-b-que grill.
Finger food, toe jam, baby-back ribs.
Bureaucratic double talkers,
Sugar coated body counts,
Colateral stew.
Really deplorable, awfully sorry,
But it was their own faults trying to put on raincoats.
They declined our invitation to the cook-out.
Bad luck to open an umbrella in the house.
Remotely piloted funeral processions.
Radar guided hearses.
Televised in real time.
Precision, surgical,
neutralized, deterrent, disarmed,
Deactivated, stand down, eliminate.
Living pawns on a battlefield checkerboard.
Strategic, defensive,
Dominate, annihilate,
Acceptable loss, public opinion pole.
Listen to the tinkling of sabre blades,
Rattling windchimes,
In the warm breeze of the shockwave,
Accompanied by the drumbeat of detonation and concussion.
Rock...
...and heads will roll.
Holy, blessed,
Patriotic, brave,
Courageous, dedicated,
Heroic, dutiful,
Self sacrificing...
******
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
Tryna brave the belly of the beast
But this enemy of me
Has got hands-
I’ve never metaphor for anxiety
Like this one
Imposter syndrome-
I was only a dark forest away
from who I needed to be
But feelings of self-doubt and inadequacy
Are twisting clouds so forebodingly
Mara’s army fires arrows
Raining streams of self-consciousness
Like I wasn’t ready to self destruct
on impact -
detonation
I laugh and share memes of self-deprecation
Social media the new god
Where we worship ourselves
By constantly trying to impress
everyone else
Venmo me Dopamine tributes
With the truth in a cave of
depression and
Isolation
Maybe Holly’s right
And I do need to be here
She shines the light
On the darkness
In the hospital wing
5th floor at Evanston
But I’m afraid I’ve grown too codependent
On this astral plane
I’ve projected
And romanticized
these Ambien nights
Only to awake neglected
Screaming out her name
In sleep paralysis
On a dark night-
When I’m manic
I try to live it out like I’m in a movie
Projecting inner struggles
As external conflicts
To make the scene more interesting
Until I’m in this final battle alone like Odysseus
Lost all my friends when the monster ate our ship and I took em for granted caught up
Between a rock and a hard place-
Depressed and Hyper-sexualization
when spring is here again
I’m in the first act dip
edging the ******
Stimulating the simulation
May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 3:43 AM UTC
Domestic destruction
Detonation
Dehumanization
People are breathing their last breaths
But we will call it
civilian casualty
Bullets ringing like bells through the air
Bones cracking like the whips we have "long since" retired
A terrorist without the skin tone
Or the turban
Is called
troubled
We keep the death toll
Like keeping score
Pointing fingers
But never at home team
The flag is colored
Red with our blood
White like our pride
And blue like our sorrow
And you boo when people kneel
Seeing them pushed down by the weight of the injustices we perpetuate
****** you off
Because people died for that flag
Like the unnamed slaves-turned-soldiers
Who never had a choice when bullets littered their backs
Dying for a country they didn't ask to be in
The taking knees
Doesn't honor that proud history
It doesn't fit the status quo
The picture of
America the brave
And home of the free(d)
The freedom of speech
Our favorite card to play
Until someone has something important to say
So build the wall ten feet higher
We gave children dreams
now we ship back the dreamers
To a land they never dreamt of
Ten feet higher
We shot unarmed kids in the back
Blaming the bullet
Not the blue who pulled the trigger
Ten feet higher
We marched with swastikas held high
Alt right
Neo ****
No, sorry
White Pride
Ten feet higher
Add a foot for every black life that didn't matter enough
Add a foot for every white ****** that walked free
Add a foot for every family ripped apart
Add a foot for every terrorist that came from inside this country
Add a foot for every hate crime left unnoticed
Add a foot for every transgender person who can no longer serve
Add a foot for every injustice that will never be addressed
Add a foot for every life we could've saved in Puerto Rico
Red with blood
The flag is red with the blood we wiped from our hands.
Be aware
Be angry
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 10:20 AM UTC
Stick straight trees line hills, their arrangement phony
less than 5,000 feet in elevation but elevating humanity for over
sixty thousand.
For more than sixty thousand human beings,
think of fish stuck, are stampeded by shiny black
blocks of detonation.
Explosion for extraction, and teeny tiny port-o-potties
sit, enjoying relaxation where an ecosystem once
enjoyed rehabilitation after March.
We Marched on, up a gravel hill where wind
blew but we bolted our boots to the soil.
Sunglass-clad woman concealed her hurt eyes,
but her voice hurt enough to inspire a kind of
throat retching sensation.
***** up that black, ooey-gooey you old, weathered mountain top.
Explosives like a firm finger shoved down the throat
denote a rock spew; regurgitate and repeat a dozen times over.
Flatten and deform, never to reform
the water-giving, life-renewing, shady shelter, stable
stool, magic majesty of my mountain.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 7:08 PM UTC
I fear the bass and treble.
The Stuka's nasal voice ringing out.
The tremulous earth beneath two treads.
The planet itself was set to tremble.
I fear the detonation.
A whistle in the darkness.
Harmonizing bass and treble.
Imminent inflammation.
I fear the bass and treble.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 4:51 PM UTC
Throw a word into a conversation like a grenade
Pin pulled overarm bowled and away it goes
You see the explosive reactions on their faces
Its impact is as detonation
Its entropy now expanding
Some are fired for effect some for pleasure
But you, thIs one is for you
****** !
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 9:02 AM UTC
Time has put a vagrancy on my mind
Subdues conformity and material worship
With scalding epileptic convulsions of imagination
My mouth blood-stained, shrieking like a pianting
A painting by Munch gives way, yields, yes yields
To an unrelenting detonation of the unconscious
An existential filter of real or imagined transformations
Which by miraculous tongue restores a belief
To wonder and levies no compass on perception
Yet reveals a tormenting estrangement
That does mount a strenuous and contemptuous protest
Against familiarity with agonized shrieks of obdurate tenacity
Where the phantoms of my imagination enact their mysterious mysteries
And produce a poetic alchemy of violated imagination
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 3:31 PM UTC
I am
the other woman
mouth full of fire
body of glass
it takes
one insincerity
and I am
sure that you
are disloyal
trust is
a funny thing
uncertain
like a joke
that I don’t
understand
so when everybody
laughs, I assume
the joke’s on me
and sometimes
I am so stubborn
in my solidarity
that I punish myself
for aching
for you
and you become
the enemy
so I spew heated
words with the
intent to burn
I am
perforated
third degree
detonation
I am
so
*******
sorry
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 8:58 PM UTC
I write for expression, not impression.
Physically, I show little emotion.
Mentally, my emotions run wild.
I know that if I keep it all inside
I would explode, and maybe even die.
Because keeping your feelings bottled up
Will turn you into a ticking time bomb
With an unknown date of detonation.
I write because my mind can roam free.
Sometimes through a field full of flowers,
Sometimes through the deep, dark dungeons of hell.
But, wherever my mind chooses to roam
I let its freedom turn into greatness.
My pen’s ink spewing all over the page
Feels like climaxing after great ***
It allows my mind to chill and relax.
I write because it’s something I’m great at.
I don’t just blend in with all of the rest
I stand right out with the best of the best
And I will not ever settle for less.
But I must confess that it’s not all me
My pen and my pad are essential needs.
Without them all my thoughts would be futile
And the greatness inside would not be seen.
I write because it’s the one thing I love.
Even at my lowest, it cheers me up
While at my highest it can bring me down.
The relationship we have can waver.
Sometimes I feel we are madly in love,
Sometimes I feel like all we do is fight,
But there is one thing I will always know
At the end of the day it’s there for me.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 10:06 AM UTC
3 nights
of
chatroulette:
New Mexican college girls &
Jessika
from Sweden ...
-- beats couchsitting i guess! tho
end up doing
enough of
that
come 4 AM
, playing battlefield 3.
next night
drives
to sportcheck
for new skates, 1.5 hr
sessions in McCafe
piledriving value menu ($1.49 ea)
bacon cheeseburgers
trying to avoid the bar.
(those same conversations:
*"how've you been since
last i saw you here?"*)
-- cutting off match heads in tyler's room,
tossing them
into
battered
kleenex box, 2000
of 'em --
propellant for some
jury-rigged
pipebomb:
two blasting caps/
1
in each end,
courtesy Snow Lake Lodge.
drive around looking for
detonation site (field, preferably, nice & open/but remote...)
tyler & jeremy arguing
up front,
have coat over my head
in th'backseat reading
Mexico City Blues...
O Kerouac ! / better man / than i !
(this my liver
would dispute,
"YOU treat me right!!")
-- guess i never have been
over-fond
of drinking alone ...
. .
(that often)
tell me : how is this great?
a bang & some
shrapnel,
zinging thru the woods?
-- i'm bored to tears;
take me home to my good chair
where i can read these blues
in peace.
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 10:19 PM UTC