Little angel.
Laced lollipop.
Littered limericks.
Limp lecher.
A Story in L
Little angel.
Laced lollipop.
Littered limericks.
Limp lecher.
Closet Full of Exes
Few know it exists. But if you would sink to your knees amongst the clutter and reach back into the depths you’d find the trove, the symbolic skeletons I’ve hung there.
The delicate white dress I wore on our first date. I fell in love for the first time in that dress. I never wore it again. No matter how many times it was washed it is forever wrinkled and limp.
The heavy brown hoodie from a midnight relationship that didn’t see dawn. That smoke-laden zip-up became a blanket on many nights, keeping the chill of loneliness at bay, offering more solace than his arms ever could.
Fictional Characters
Every day I sit at the café window
A two dimensional figure
Cloaked in black, size 10
Times New Roman.
Around me, a colorful world
In three dimensions
While page by page
The very thing that keeps me
Here,
Offers me leather bound glimpses
Of my only true friends.
I’d Rather Be a Rockstar
I’d rather be a rockstar;
a poet in ripped jeans.
I want to wear my heart
on a tattooed sleeve.
I want to feed my soul
by sucking life dry
of every moment.
*
I’d rather be a rockstar;
a priest with a guitar
Lunacy
Dancing down black, bourbon soaked street tops,
mannequins painted with maniacal faces,
pulled by marionette strings, chase the luminescent double lines.
Cloaked behind unclouded skies, the mind sways,
thoughts rustling, like the windswept tree tops.
Dressed in shadow-dipped robes Her delirious monks
are drawn devoutly from their homes by Her orb,
hanging full of reformation in the sky.
Waxing and waning, the worshipers feel it in their blood,
a corporeal tide, proving themselves un-befitting a corpse.
642 Poems and More 