. 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

Monday, September 19, 2016

The Thrush

It was the devil who led me into the shadows
to find the red sparrow hidden in the folds of your flesh,
I followed the slick trails
and slipped when it was wet,
hunting for this lost bird's nest,
my tongue over bite marks,
bite marks over your heart,
and your heart over this bondage between us -
this mess,
your sweat reflecting back false images of a dark bird,
but when I thrust,
I miss,

Still, I must confess,
the minute I met you
I made it my mission
to find my way beneath your dress,

But what happened next
was left...
to mystery,
to fate,
to destiny...

and all the rest.



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