. 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, November 23, 2016


That harvest moon calls me out
like the howl of the grey wolf long lonely and loud
prowling about in leather drunk on the weather
moccasins tethered in buffalo skin
elf knuckle knife on my belt
calf pelt over my rear end
moonglow shadows fade out
fade in
within the black forest I am made into the shape
of a wraith
skirting the low growth as silent as a snake
full weight of that orbital cheesecake rests easily on the strong shoulders
of my soul wide awake
I am naked splayed for a sleeping city afraid to dance where
devils mate
let them skate along the edges of the gate
I make my way within where sin begins to blur into a less recognizable
erased are curses and blessings alike
it's only right
that what's left is the moon
her glow
the night
and I.



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