Tag Archives: short poem

Nothing Tastes Like

  One wrong look And you coil A one-off word Rattle… rattle…  Impregnating a moment  In a comatose afternoon Lunge Bite Venom that tastes like nothing  And nothing tastes like forgetting Advertisements

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Plainclothes

  Walking past a donut shop, I see God, a plainclothes cop Sipping coffee, much too hot Damning the devil to hell again. Smeared on his mustache, Chocolate crème from a Freshly-baked eclair. He switched off the babbling, Crying walkie-talkie. … Continue reading

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Grave-Side

  You, Parasitic lesser beast, Gladly feasting Upon my white, pulsating shoulder A mosquito more daring Sinking into a familiar vein Bleeding out, not bleeding alone. We are ruins of an ancient place, Where history fades, softy rewritten Amended to … Continue reading

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Avocado, Pt 1.

  The feel of your skin Resisting my knife Delights me. Avocado, It means you are not too soft Inside.

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Just Starvation

In murky October’s morning The fog appears to be Sleeping giants Rolls of fat with Brown grass hair peaking through; Gray patches, reminiscent Of a once-blue sky, Stretching across my known world, Snoring across eons. These giants no longer live … Continue reading

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I Sip Whiskey, Now

  I sip whiskey, now I still find it acrid, Kerosene down my throat I’ve found I like the burning. You’d recognize me, But it would take a minute or two. As days roll by, A constant state of metamorphosis … Continue reading

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Triage

  The doctor looks over my x-Ray Saying “This looks good, Except for the shin bone jabbing through Your flesh.” He can mend it, easily. But that fragmented bone Pushed so hard to be free, Perhaps I should let it … Continue reading

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Like Leaves, I Fall (Though I do not Decay)

  What is it, this time, Crawling up your spine, Using the backs of your Rib-cage as rungs? Every step, A sharper breath, Until it reaches your heart; Finally learning the color Of your blood. There are so many white … Continue reading

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En Grave

Engrave Upon me The time of Our life Come to A final Battle Ground.

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Morning

  I see my hairs are split As I lay against The crevices of duvet skin. I tear them out, With my disquieted digits. Fingernails digging into my palm, A damp fist full of injustice And disturbed growth, My eyes … Continue reading

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