. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Your Brush Beside the Sink

You send my skin away
Wrap it around your long finger
High-dive off of your painted fingernail
Slalom ski the rivulets of my joints
Moles like lily-pads float along the surface of my back
But part as you wade through the reeds there
Call my sins from the depths
Red rich water of my soul
Count for me the times I’ve said I’d miss you
But never really did
Toss your head back and scream my name
Put your weight on my chest
Empty your lungs
Leave your heart on the stand beside the bed
Where the yellow light falls
And the empty pages of your leather book lie rusting and asleep
Take your brush from beside the sink
Find your panties on the floor
And get the hell out


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