Reluctant Writer. Teacher.
Hawking vocal contests for love letters.
I find comfort in eyes almond smooth leather brown history club jersey a smile brilliant blinding inertia pause with every lip curve crest of it.
By No Real Balance2 years ago in Poets
Last day of August Been Twelve One Each for each day Counting crows I once looked forward to August, And everything after
These be hard days Like cafeteria garbage Overflowing. Unnecessary. banana string skid marks Can crusted bottom Dried chunks, like regurgitated stew
Arterial Artillery Bleed Blood Gasping Grasping No time left Inadequacy Inaccuracy No conform No comfort shoulder shelter
Sunday scaries tremors, visions next fight coming tik tok echo into mirrored hallways covered in feathers and rope Smacking insta- self lashed
Dribbly Sliibly blippidy blop Boot bea do do bird Sing song tweet-a-twitter true Gotta hit at least 100 words to qualify
Oooo-eeee I love my Jeep Bumpy, treaded tires thick Rear curve glisten Cupped headlights Circular beaming I clutch, grip
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. The same goes for a scream in the vestibule of a district train.
By No Real Balance2 years ago in Fiction
I vowed 40 submissions This is the fifth I am over the poetry. I prepared. Studied classics. Dissected pentameter connected synecdoche
Tried a new position Still gasping, but with extra duty Pick up. Push in. No touching. There is no comfort in marching
I collided with an English teacher. Tried to avoid him all year. Leather stitched soles tangled. Papers flew. On fours tumbled.
White-chalked notes smeared murky blackboards border the periphery linked in paper DNA strands like cut-out dolls in a class project.