Poetic

Heathen grace

And with a smattering of congenial disgust
I catch the fate of this feeble mind, steeple chaser, remiss crime.
A spear tip gut, entrails gush, propane cut.
Looking for the one, knuckle-white clinger for every last grain of disdain.
For the one had got away, gotten on for a song, adorn
The disgrace of erring heart, stain of blithe man.
Disaster passed her, laughed a great one, karma come undone.

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Poetic

Devil knows I am

Deathly afraid to stop knowing you
Fierce prize of a cub-like man. Once, no twice,
Let’s try thrice devoured for a bland, scarce dinner
For a barely chew and spit morsel.

Disaster after disaster will pass her
What pathetic life form
No refined pallet
But swills at every chance.

Let’s hold up now
Do I cease to beat myself black and blue?
And shiny but I do not shine
Playing better than my worst is harder than it sounds
You do not know a thing
I brushed off your sins
Before they even left your pretty little mouth
To say nothing of the ones
That barely impressed upon your chest
That stand neither a coaxing, nor trial
I am no judge-penitent
Assume no such title
I swam, no drowned in deep blue love
And hell only knows this preemptive defense
The heart so eager to quickly mend.

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Poetic

Her will her woe

If those of you, able to look dead into me and interject
‘there’s something wrong with you’,
are then rendered alright,
I’d rather stay in my wrongness
Than be alright.
For it’s plain wrong
I tell you.
I prize that something wrong with me.
Fucking wrong ‘un, me.

But he never did that
And she would never do that.
Stay alright
You seldom straying
Lovely people.

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Poetic

You’ll bruise

Don’t baby me
Sober leech
Ask me why I don’t have a fresh uptake on life?
This, my retort, is yours expressly:
It’s fresh as the rot my future world festers in
Born of your unyielding sin
Our innings.

Quit the play
Your meagre games of late
Deem yourself a seer
Cannot see past the end of your nose
Then you sever it, don’t spite your face.

And yes
When I have at thee
In part, I have at me.

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