Flash Fiction & Poetry
Unrequited
You are Maud Gonne
to my William Butler Yeats
a cold, impassive Jekyll
to my frantic, desperate Hyde
the proverbial thorn
embedded in my side
an avalanche that sits
and waits.
You are the hung jury
to my repeat offender
you are my iron lung
a phrase on the tip of my tongue
a song the words to which
I can’t remember.
My Scylla and Charibdis
a name to which I cannot
put a face
the missing link
to the origin of my race
a step
off of a precipice.
Money I do not have to burn
matches to my dying waif
stigmata
to my failing faith
a lesson I will
never learn.
About the author
Amateur etymologist; staunch existentialist; mediocre poet; unabashed bibliophile; Salieri of torch singers; human anachronism.
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Preprocessor
about 2 weeks ago - No comments
Hello World It’s me, Seventy- four Out from behind mDesk You might rec ognize me with my shoulders like this who knew i would walk out and sing, dag, yo i like it out here the wheels and the trees sun more gin please
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about 8 months ago - No comments
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about 8 months ago - 1 comment
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The Forbidden Pit of My Georgia Peach
about 8 months ago - 1 comment
Sorry, I’m posting like crazy this week, but new inspiration is abound caused by a certain female.
Walden Emergence
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You made me
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Absorption
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2003-2005. Picture jealous towels who won’t stop watching your every move…
The Bedroom Abyss
about 9 months ago - No comments
Another old one from 2004/2005. Picture an evening with a bi-polar vampire lady friend!
Uprising
about 10 months ago - No comments
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Boy
about 1 year ago - 1 comment
There is no castor oil to purge this sweet disease called you. In my stomach, steel wire, hypodermic thin, like the hair starting to poke through the blonde around your temples, filters acid to my blood. Mandragora, Amanita, Belladonna, Teonanácatl, I beseech thee. Why? All these years… A decade and a half, and I still
about 3 years ago
loveloveloveit.