Ah, Dirt.

There’s vengeful wind blowing south of Heaven.

My Whimpering Dejected Jalopy drives as

Forceful flicks on the lighter ignite the lungs.

Jump Start the heart, and ease the breathing.

The familiar tobacco tastes of another time-- another--

Imposing memories upon my mind.

And I smirk, Thinking,

“Ah, Dirt.”

 

The taste of desperate times,

Desperate people,

And desperate living.

Dirt.

 

Oh, how we all have our own method

Of Falling.

Reviews

[Frieda P]

Ha, good one! We do all have our own way of falling, obviously yours isn't poetry, you rocked this girl! Kudos....!

[KAOlmsted]

Say hello to your newest fan ;-)

[saratogaparty]

OH MY GOD

You're amazing. Thank you so much. I look forward to having you around these parts. :]

[KAOlmsted]

My absolute pleasure. I'm happy to be here.

[writing mojo]

interesting how you connect with the down trotted in this piece, the low life fight or flight in every living cell waiting for the nostalgia too clean...great piece

[saratogaparty]

Well I was smoking a camel crush cigarette which I hadn't done in a while and it reminded me of two people I used to know that I know refer to as "Dirt".


(This was a deserved insult. i'm normally not a mean person, but one is my ex boyfriend and the other an old friend.)