Posted at 1:39 pm , on March 27, 2021
The predictable morphed into the unexpected.
unnamed and not revised and barely coherent ten-minute poem
if i hang fire for the unexpected
does that trigger me predictable?
or a misfire rejected?
or AKA a gunslinger
with an AK-47?
that's how I'd spend my seven minutes in heaven
lingering and fingering this weapon
of mass destruction
does that trigger me predictable
because Colt 45s are my cult, my principles?
while i hang fire for the unexpected.
Posted at 3:09 pm , on February 15, 2020
pampered, never neglected, but unheard
isolated, never surrounded, but invalidated
waiting, never going, but placating
hating the sated double standard
Posted at 9:29 am , on September 28, 2019
Luna’s initial umbrage, a superficial amber, at Logan’s languor groaned into rancor, official and raging red, while she, armed with a dust rag, cleaned the house as he bummed on the couch watching the Rams vs. the Bears.