"slurped" poems
*The world where I stood was a desert
thirsty for a pint of rain;
longing for a kiss that never came.*
Not until you did.
Everything started with a droplet of your essence,
Out of nowhere. Unexpected.
YOU... yes you MANIFESTED.
*Without notice, you took me by surprise.
A beautiful surprise I say.
For the first time in a while I felt,
my worries washed away by your presence.
Hot sand turned mud where then I lay.
In those moments I lost,
all anxieties brought by drought.
When through the years I thought
I'd never touch the rain I ought
to ardently pray for every night.
Imbued I was with your* "love".
clothes soaked. body wet. soul drunk.
*your name the promise I mutter through the drizzle.
This body jived to the beat of a million sizzle.
Moments passed faster than it seemed.
I, taken away by lust of a parched soul.*
I slurped. I gulped. I glugged.
*as much as I could, never thinking of
what I would drink in the latter.
When the land runs dry;
when then again,* I'm deprived of water.
*So then, what caught me by surprise,
left without a word... woah,* SURPRISE!
everything turned back the way it was;
an arid heart in a blink of an eye.
*But what makes me wonder is this delusive sense,
of your cooling touch amidst this false pretense;*
I smell–
*Your scent stick to my chest like perfume odour.
My nostrils clogged with the aroma of your neck.
A waft that distorts the senses of this* consumed man.
Thoughts of you linger long after you are gone...
Like the fragrance of rain that stays after the downpour.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
MThis is the month
Momma sets up the christmas tree
Daddy helps string the lights
Brother puts the ornaments on the bright tree
I sip my sweet tea
Sister And I set up the miniture christmas village
The christmas tree and village are created
Warm coco and candy canes await
Across the street the another New York Family
Is setting up their own tree
Back at the gold's
Coco is slurped And candy
Chewn but really all the presents
Under the tree soon to be seen have a happy
Place to be til christmas
***then to come will be a special New Years and it's Eve
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
Another morning in the life
Of a P.T.D, I slurped my
Juice back all 400 ml, then
Stretched up, fingers
Wiggling as mother picked
Me up.
Snuggles in the morning
Nothing better, to show I'm
Loved. But back to business,
As I turned my dummy to
The opposite side, the taste
Is better every time its turned
Soothing with each ****
It was nearly breakfast time
A belly is never wrong,
MMmmm...
Toast and jam, I smile
At mummy with my
Cheshire Jam smiled face.
"Silly little man"
As she wipes the smudges
From all over my face.
A case to solve, was my plan,
The missing statue of
SANDMAN BOB tm.
It was here before, but now
Gone, the prized possession
Of hairy dog, as I pat his head
And he licks my face
Yuckkkk....
Doggy that was yuck, he wags
His tail and then he is off.
What a morning so much done,
Time for a nap then detective
Work to be done. I wake to
Dads voice,
"Morning little man"
"How was your nap"
As i give my answer with a
Yawn and a smile, he gives
A cuddle then off to work for
Hours of fun and playing games.
The clues to be seen the trail
To be found, for I'm
***** Trained Detective"*
And no case is to far, as
Long as I can have a nap
And a cuddle, maybe a
Little sip and a gulp, here
On look out of what is to
Be found.
Hairy dog is sleeping in his
bed, I hear a noise I hear a
Sound??
What a strange noise,
"Snoring"
"NO"
"Bottom belches"
"No funny smells"
As I lift up his blanky
Softly so not to wake doggy's sleep,
And their he is safe and sound.
"SANDMAN BOB"
"Playing hide and go seek"
Under hairy dogs nose and bottom,
As he sleeps it does squeak, it
Does beep, I lift it up and under
His paw, to surprise him when
He awakens. A tail shall wiggle
And flop around, but the case was
Solved and a happy smile found.
***** Trained Detective* does it
Again, but for now it is nap time,
A new case, a new thing to be
Found. I will see you all again
Soon, But now its snuggles
Time with mummy in bed.
As I close my eyes night, night
I turn my dummy once more,
As sheep float quietly over my head.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
Swirling a frosty straw
Stuck up like a victory flag in winter ground
With my lips wrapped around it
I stare into this empty canvas
of a vanilla malt
And project my cartoonish headaches
into it to devour it
Oh those Scooby Doo monsters
Shadows that lurk to cut my Tom & Jerry humor
Only to formulate semblances of evil
A Mojo JoJo caricature
I then project into my milkshake
His smirk haunts the smile of Tweety Bird
In my Hanna-Barbara mindfield
Colorful spirals of animated joys
Let me know slurp Elmer Fudd shotgun
That was mugging my creativity
And robbed me of my motive
Let me taste the refreshing winds
That flow through the deserts of Road Runner
Taking laps around my heart
With its true intentions in a love letter
I will never get
Soon slurped and eaten to take away the thoughts
And now I hope I can drink another
To rip out the rest of the pain that in my heart
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
He had just sat down to dinner
at the Heart Attack Grill.
The fab Las Vegas nightspot
where the fatties eat their fill
A place where the morbidly obese
and Summo wannabees
can chow down to their heart’s content
cause Fatties eat for free.
Nurse Bridgette brought his burger
and he started feeling ill.
As he slurped his triple milkshake
did he feel a sudden chill?
Was it the unfiltered cigarettes
He went through by the pack?
Or the triple bypass burger
that brought on his heart attack?
He started turning purple
and was rolling on the floor.
He was regretting his decision
to bypass that health food store.
Nurse Bridgette practiced CPR
and dialed emergency.
Thanks to her ministrations
He'll make a full recovery.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 10:14 PM UTC
Click…
Click…
CLICK…
Earsplitting silence surrounds me
As I waste time envisioning a new setting,
Where my paper, pen, mug, and coffee are still there,
But the paper is bursting with passion,
And the magic of espresso beans enable the pen to float along my rapid thoughts.
Right now it is used to stimulate the monotony.
Unfortunately,
Money cannot be bled from words on paper and,
Beers are not bought with dedications in hard cover.
Click…
Click…
CLICK…
Yogurt wrappers opening, spoons being slurped.
***** expanding atop their encompassing chairs.
These are the thoughts that fill my head,
As co-workers plan the next birthday party,
The next lunch, client dinner, and snack.
It seems that bars do not enclose me at my desk,
There is no guard at the door and,
Above me the exit sign gives warmth.
Click….
Click…
CLICK…
Not today, today is not a good day.
There are presentations, Power Points, data to analyze.
Analyze feels like a ***** word in my world,
It covers my neurons and destroys imagination,
Synopsis seize to fire.
It seeps into my blood until I become a replica,
But it is the word that takes my balance off negative,
And applies charming labels to my purse,
I wonder if this is how it starts out for everyone,
Humans are adjustable, no batteries allowed.
Click…
Click…
CLICK.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
Forgotten Popsicle stick
Dominates in ashtray.
He broke it in half once
But it's been there a while.
He remembered.
Spending summer night.
Outside-
While his dad
Smoked in chains;
Wisps dusting
Humid air.
They just talked.
Cigarettes devoured,
Popsicles slurped
And bitten,
Even as sensitive
Teeth screamed,
Each left
Distinct tastes on the lips.
The ashtray began to crowd,
Butts piled high.
But he'd found a perch
For Popsicle stick
Stained blue.
But then his dad moved out.
And Popsicles
Soon turned to cigarettes,
That lone stick
Being one of the last.
Eventually he dumped the tray,
To get rid of his dad and
Make room for his own addiction.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
THE TRUE STORY
The wolf sat on the ground.
Little Red Riding Hood
sat at his feet.
"Well, well, well, so
here we are again!"
said Mr. Woolf in a faux
English accent
he had picked up from watching
Peter O'Toole be Lawrence of Arabia.
"Some apple juice my dear
have some apple crumble do!"
enquired Mr. Woolf of his
fairy story cohort.
"I baked it myself you know
molasses instead of sugar
gives it that dark flavour
oh and a little touch of ginger!"
Little Red Riding Hood
wolfed down the apple crumble.
Sipped...slurped
noisily through a bendy straw
annoying the silence that
gathered itself around her.
There was a piece of apple
crumble on her nose.
For a little girl she
had a big appetite.
The wolf ate nothing.
"We can't go on like this
any minute now a child
somewhere in another
somewhere
will start our story
by opening a book.
I will be called upon
to eat you and Granny up.
I don't even like
grannies for gawd's sake!"
Mr. Woolf had tears that
refused to fall.
It's got...it's...got
to somehow stop!"
Little Red Riding Hood burped.
"Pardon!"
So, when the child I used to be
opened the story once
upon a time it was
simply not there.
There was nothing there.
Nothing but a great big ****** blank.
Somewhere in another somewhere
Little Red Riding Hood
swung on a swing
Mr. Woolf pushing her
higher and
higher into
a summer blue
sky.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 3:27 PM UTC
Last birthday you hadn't uttered your words yet
Now you are nearly two
You were half asleep uttering those words I craved for
Happy birthday mama
It was sweeter than sugar
You clinged onto me and were in your sleepland again
We wore matching attires
Mellow in yellow
Lit the candles on the luscious chocolate cake you chose for me
As always I made a wish for you
Off we blew the flickering flame
I held your hand and we dived into the cake gently
You loved it the moment it touched your lips
And asked for more and more
Mama chose your favourite cuisine for the afternoon, Chinese
You couldn't resist any longer
The moment food arrived, you slurped in every strand of Hakka noodles with some tofu
After a quick nap, evening was playtime
The ball pool area was awaiting your entry
Up the stairs, down the slide; up the slope, down the stairs
It was all yours
More fun time with sand play sets, alphabets, shapes and many more
I stood there watching you enjoy the day
I wanted it to be your day
I don't remember what birthdays used to be before you
I am glad I am not alone anymore
Love you baby
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 4:31 AM UTC
*the droplets of water are singing a trail down the bricks of the houses
through the alleys of the glassy-eyed broken people with soft hearts, a pre-disposition for death
weaving a tabooed trail across the sidewalks that when gazed upon reeks of obscurity
and leaving faint lines on the creased skin of all the sinewy fatalities
the mildewed rain peaks across the rusted windowsill that sighs with familiarity
it sloshes against the children’s playground and slaps at the pavement with a sudden clarity
it empties itself into the spiked maze of the tree branch hoping the leafs will cling onto to it dearly
it mellows into a pond that breaks apart with sharp staccatos when mushy feet run down the street
and it hurls itself into the bitterly sweet lips of two frost-bitten lovers who will soon meet
it daintily steps into the burning embers of the flame, only to be flushed out in shame
it turns to the shower as a last resort, but whines in dismay when it’s slurped down the drain
it embraces the eyelashes until it’s shaken in misery and then watches wearily as it’s blinked away in positivity
it lumbers down the path of the bruised ego, a shattering of phrases that leaves the person’s mouth
and before it has the chance to drop it is scooped up and chastised until it moves no more
the tears and the rain drops wander listlessly for all of eternity
only to be hastily thrown away or brushed into cotton for fear of a restless divinity
it is never to reach a destination and only doomed to be forgotten
and so it seems dear friends, that raindrops are simply you and me*
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
I thought I knew what envy was
When I threw that stupid fit when I was seven
While my sister who didn’t like to draw
Won the art contest, instead of me.
I thought I knew what envy was
On a Monday, when I was thirteen and pimpled
While my best friend’s face
Was smooth, caked with foundation.
I thought I knew what envy was
The summer before senior year taking tests
While after it all we compared scores,
And I wondered what I could’ve done better.
I thought I knew what envy was
That it was quick, and runny in passing
That it was something that slips, slurped down your throat
Vindictive and vicious
But cured: by making them cookies.
I thought I knew what envy was—
But I didn’t.
Envy is not smooth, but sticks
Stopped, stuck in your throat
Stagnant, it chokes.
Envy is not green, but grey
You bat it away
But the fog overstays
Its welcome.
Envy is not thin, but fat
A wall—and for all of your gall
You cannot peek over.
Envy does not look out
Through narrow, hot eyes
Shifting gazes, suspicious
With hisses and cries
It doesn’t pace up and down
And beg you to listen—
Envy is silent. You can’t say, “Do you hear it?”
I thought I knew what envy was
When I was twelve, in Sunday school
White ribbons and smooth skirts
Under verses of thou shalt not covet---
But oh man, I didn’t.
Mar 31, 2021
Mar 31, 2021 at 3:33 PM UTC
Hadn’t changed numbers.
A voice bristled in my ear,
said why not then, it’s been years.
Months passed.
An amalgam of frail strained hearts,
smells on pillows we tried to lose.
Chose the boulevard in the end,
gaudy nostalgia blazing
like a forest fire in my eyes.
I waited.
Ran a finger over rails
those skaters we knew marked,
back when something called lust
fizzled between you them and me,
through the airwaves;
the lyrics can still trickle
on my tongue if you ask nicely.
Peroxide-blondes, men with muscles
the size of marrows,
a summer pick ‘n’ mix
lacking in looks, in fine taste.
Went to read a book in the sea
for a while,
slurped up half a pint in chapters
then lost the plot again.
That’s when you came
in polka dots,
a pack of colourful taffy
swinging idly from a wrist,
peanut-butter cups
like lily-pads on your palm.
As if you’d never left,
same number, name, face.
Forgot what goodbye was,
tripped over a lost hello.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
Brick-dust tumbles
with last reach for light,
choked leaves gasping for air.
Cigarette ends and spiders
come and go
like traffic on the road.
Violet against terracotta,
a Maasai on an African plain -
burning thirst.
Rain drips along
upright canals of grout
slurped by parched roots.
Crinkled buds
like babies’ hands,
drenched, unfold.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
i don't think i'll play
with pleasant words
tonight -- i'd rather
upset you with my
honesty than delight
you with laughably
phony repartee.
excuse the graphic aspect
but i'm not in the business
of acknowledging faux pas.
a reflection on state of mind;
i'd say solid, though somewhat
soft and liquid as well, like
a plate of spaghetti for brains,
i can't figure out which strand
of grey matter is meant for me
and which is supposed to be
slurped up by lady and *****
nor whether it is my pituitary
or my hypothalamus which is
destined to be taken home
in a doggy bag for seconds.
i really am lost.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 3:27 AM UTC
Yes! It's another Barry Hodges "Memories" poem!"
I shall never forget our first date together,
How we wandered through the streets of Soho,
Gazing into the **** shop windows,
Laughing at the giant vibrators on display...
And later, a romantic meal in a French bistro,
Where the rules of hygiene were not
As strictly observed as might have been hoped for,
Promising a regurgitatory treat in store...
You ignored the startled eyes of our fellow diners
And brutally shoved your tongue in my mouth;
O how fiercely I slurped on it enthusiastically
Caressing it with my own mouth sausage...
I ****** and ****** and ****** and ******
And (oh joy!) I could taste the garlicky bits
'Twixt your gorgeous unwashed choppers;
How my underwear damply stretched out of shape...
I withdrew my probing tongue and kissed your cheek
Affectionately, yet trembling with rampant desire;
And I boldly licked a firm yellow-topped spot
With its previously observed black centre...
My huge uncontrollable lust conquered
The demands of demodé bourgeois good manners
And I sunk my incisors into that zitty beauty
Relishing the hard core waiting just for me therein...
The waiting staff were deeply impressed as I chewed
In rapturous sensual joyous contemplation
And you spluttered bloodily in loving agony
Your own mighty ****** fast approaching...
Oh what a foretaste of what was to come
When we repaired to my convenient bedsit
For an immensely gratifying triple bonk
Prior to a staggering mutual diarrhoea session...
And now I lie back in sweet recollection
Of the many nights we spent in copulation
But how sad I am as, looking at the deserted bed,
I can still make out the stains of your dying turds.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 6:45 AM UTC
Remember the last time we sat together?
I was boxing up the last of my things,
And you turned to me with that condescending scowl.
I could tell you were thinking of something poisonous to say,
Then you spat out,
With the only passionate tone ever to come from your lips:
“Mary, you romanticize everything,
Like that time we ate Ramen for a week.
You slurped a noodle and nodded around the room,
Then babbled on about how we were starving for our dreams.
Well I have news for you,
We were starving because you were late again.
And I couldn’t find my ******* tie,
Remember?
We found it a week later,
Under the bed, next to my bowl,
And then played gin rummy for the last few hits,
How’s that for a dream?”
I continued to pack but you kept staring at me,
Like a creature you have never lived or slept with,
I don’t know if it’s true, but I think you hated me for my innocence,
I do know that I began to resent you for snatching it away,
I wish I never went to that concert on 8th and McClair,
Or asked you to not look at my ID,
So I could drink another *** and coke.
I was a different person then, I wrote about the color green,
And its connotation to nature and eyes.
Now I find myself in a room with stained sheets, bourbon, and Bukowski.
Just so you know,
I never thought we were starving for our dreams.
It just sounded pretty out of my mouth,
Like something nice someone says when a relative dies.
I was just trying to take away the blow,
Of knowing that everything was not how we planned.
Then again maybe you were right,
Maybe I do romanticize things.
Because I still have your Rolling Stones albums under my bed,
And “Let Me Down Slow” helps me sleep when the silence hits.
But at least I have soul, and heart, and butterflies,
All that mushy stuff you hate.
The way your eyes went dull would scare me.
So how are you now?
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 1:37 AM UTC
Breaking away from the madness,
paperwork stares at my departure
Frowns follow my every move,
questions form in curious (nosey) minds
Eyes glance over cubicles
as whispers raise above the din
Styrofoam containers of microwaved soup
are slurped from plastic spoons
They wonder, they gossip, they point with hidden fingers
while wasting away in their unhappiness
Wishing the same on another...
because it makes them feel better?
Still I walk through this jungle of desks,
a bounce in my step, my heart giggling
Smiling at the clock (Which at this moment is my friend),
with its two beautiful hands pointing straight up
For it is lunchtime, my quiet time,
that precious hour in the middle of each work day,
sixty minutes of pure bliss
that I spend with you
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
A "Memories" Poem from the great Barry Hodges' pen
I shall never forget our first date together,
How we wandered through the streets of Soho,
Gazing into the **** shop windows,
Laughing at the giant vibrators on display...
And later, a romantic meal in a French bistro,
Where the rules of hygiene were not
As strictly observed as might have been hoped for,
Promising a regurgitatory treat in store...
You ignored the startled eyes of our fellow diners
And brutally shoved your tongue in my mouth;
O how fiercely I slurped on it enthusiastically
Caressing it with my own mouth sausage...
I ****** and ****** and ****** and ******
And (oh joy!) I could taste the garlicky bits
'Twixt your gorgeous unwashed choppers;
How my underwear damply stretched out of shape...
I withdrew my probing tongue and kissed your cheek
Affectionately, yet trembling with rampant desire;
And I boldly licked a firm yellow-topped spot
With its previously observed black centre...
My huge uncontrollable lust conquered
The demands of demodé bourgeois good manners
And I sunk my incisors into that zitty beauty
Relishing the hard core waiting just for me therein...
The waiting staff were deeply impressed as I chewed
In rapturous sensual joyous contemplation
And you spluttered bloodily in loving agony
Your own mighty ****** fast approaching...
Oh what a foretaste of what was to come
When we repaired to my convenient bedsit
For an immensely gratifying triple bonk
Prior to a staggering mutual diarrhoea session.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
The leech, he slithers in hot blood, unnoticed, ***** thoughts washed
Up in waves of serotonin, lust, licking his sickly sweet fingers allllll over you.
Love-struck, heart-throb cupid mask, pouring honey over gall, lipstick on a pig, love sows flower words,
Rose-petal roads to your heart (bed). Slick trickster, hid even from me, creeped
In through our first hug, but quick to gain momentum, take the wheel. Feed my starving eyes,
My fingers, skin, flesh *** a little step here, a little there, shuffling stealthily to home.
Engorged now, oozing, perusing, the feast is all empty plates and ***** knives
Looking up, eyes burning, through calm-surfaced quicksand,
from now-plumbed black, brackish depths. He casts aside your husk, your syrupy soul slurped,
even the joke of flowers wilts now. The core's poison, the cake is a lie, his bulge
my curved stomach is bloated with wriggling maggots, protruding, exuding slime, rot.
And I'm still hungry.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 6:10 PM UTC
Not the moon itself, but the light that fell from it
reflected off the papery wings of moths
I almost mistook for shooting stars.
“Surely that’s not the ending”
Lauren slurped her soda noisily
as the credits began to roll.
“Shirley doesn’t live here”
was my only reply.
Cars began moving backwards
in my window, while pebbles
hurled themselves toward my windshield
as if to say
“Don’t. You’re not ready for this”.
My heart that had jumped during
the movie explosions not 5 minutes
earlier, was now oddly still.
Quietly shouting its disapproval.
Lauren didn’t make a sound
when we passed the street to her house
nor when my tires left gravel
and began rolling on sand.
Nor did she make a sound
when my tires hit the water
coming in from the lake ahead
as the car plunged into
the black black depths
and I could no longer control
our descent.
A moth fluttered against my window
trapped, as the moonlight disappeared.
It looked nothing like a shooting star now.
“Surely this is unfair to the moth”
my heart tried.
“Surely doesn’t live here”.
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 9:11 AM UTC
Age 5
There we sat, you in criss cross applesauce,
I sat on my chicken legs.
I remember your small curls didn’t come past your ears
As we slurped our apple juice and gabbed on about Harry Potter.
Our stubbornness and entitlement matched.
Age 7
I remember the day you told me that we were growing apart.
You told me that I wanted to grow up too fast for you,
I think it was my lipstick that did it.
We grew separately.
Age 13
Six years past, and we had finally matched up again.
Growth and maturity was as similar as it could be,
But now I needed to be something for you:
A specific mixture of contentment, judging, intelligence
and a spirit that we both always wanted.
15
You were blossoming before my eyes, I felt as though
I owned some part of that, we were close knit and joyous.
We belonged together again.
You didn’t like the strange boy who came into my life,
you neglected my heart he resided in,
I moved things around to make you room
but again, it wasn't enough.
16
Effort was engraved in my voice,
I wanted our mismatched souls together again.
I felt as though I was begging
on my knees for our unconventional love.
Do you remember our fight? Where I believed
we were finally expressing enough to progress to a real level.
I realized the aimlessness of trying to affect you.
17
There were still spurts of hope in us,
but finally I cut the chord, I doubt you noticed.
Even our glances I struggled to make sure were not glares.
Then the miracle moment, you stand next to me
and speak the empty words, “How are you? I haven’t talked to you in a while.”
In the same voice I sculpted to not sound desperate.
You spoke it effortlessly with no substance,
that right there
was when I truly understood we just never matched up.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
Mr Jones had the sum of five bucks
So he bought a coffee at Starbucks
Their lattes were inexpensively priced
So none of his meager dollars were sacrificed
He was a man who knew the value of cash
And never spent oodles from his stash
As he slurped the coffee down he did smile
For he'd saved a humongous money pile
He lived the life of a very frugal chap
And rarely emptied his finance's tap
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 6:06 PM UTC
Modern Appetite
by Michael R. Burch
It grumbled low, insisting it would feast
on blood and flesh, etcetera, at least
three times a day. With soft lubricious grease
and pale salacious oils, it would ease
its way through life. Each day—an aperitif.
Each night—a frothy bromide, for relief.
It lived on TV fare, wore pinafores,
slurped sugar-coated gumballs, gobbled S’mores.
When gas ensued, it burped and farted. ’Course,
it thought aloud, my wife will leave me. ******
are not so **** particular. Divorce
is certainly a settlement, toujours!
A Tums a day will keep the shrink away,
recalcify old bones, keep gas at bay.
If Simon says, etcetera, Mother, may
I have my hit of calcium today?
Keywords/Tags: modern, appetite, supersize, me, indulgence, gluttony, bromide, seltzer, gas, Tums, calcium, quick, cure, tonic, overeating
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 3:33 AM UTC
Brick dust tumbles
with last reach for light,
choked leaves gasping for air.
Cigarette ends and spiders
come and go
like traffic on the road.
Rain drips along
upright canals of grout
slurped by parched roots.
Crinkled buds
like baby’s hands,
drenched, unfold.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 7:54 PM UTC