. 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

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

Fingers Turned Red

Until our fingers turned red like the wine
like the heavy blanket of starry black cresting overhead to
crash like a wolf's howl ushering in the
long night
we let go the question of right
of wrong
gay with dark drink slipping from between our lips the merriment of song
she hovered over the sand
tall and long
smiling and smelling sweetly of sadness
of the strong scent of madness; that curse washed away
not long after surviving distaster
stir the night air with the spoon of your long neck and dance for
your master
until our fingers turned red like the wine
and we died like gangsters.

TA - 2016

No comments:

Post a Comment