textbook b*****d

I haven't done something that rhymes for awhile now.

My mind triggered by words and smells.
Salts and sea,
Blow and breeze.

I, therefore tend to free my escalating
Sense of self.
The Fall of Me.

There’s another roll of the “R” though.
Reverse the stage,
Reword a phrase.

And in that case I can speak of triumph.
The Delphi beauties
could feed these, caged.

And it is there, in my focused diet- of reflective state aquatints- those mishandled mutts and ill-counseled wise guys. Their full it...

S**t-there, in spoonfuls that carve claim to bodies in streaks of already set scabs that stain the body and discomfort the soul.

Where all our sins are held in contempt before the words are even uttered in pastors prayers so loud, the poor mans feet shake.

I think in some other place or varied time
a dust bowl, emptied of shaming crime,
There is a scent.

that’s what I meant.

My mind is a separatist, my brain a socialist, and my heart conservative.

Author's Note

This is about the absence of love in the words themselves.