Month: September 2017

Tomorrow’s dirty, too

You find these moments,

at the end of the day,

that should ‘knit-up’

and coalesce.

… but they don’t.

So,

I sit here,

in the dark,

gently letting down

the remainder

of the day.

I will pretend

that this day

was unique

to me

and therefore

special…

… but….

The world has no shortage

of assholes

and so I bear

no misgivings

about myself.

Hello,

sunset…

I’m Chris….

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On the porch (but they don’t wave)

“Look at the clouds,”

he said,

his head tilted back,

and his hand

shading his eyes.

“They’re so white. ”

This didn’t need any explanation,

so none was offered.

We returned our focus

to our drinks

and let the awkwardness

consume us.

It was comforting.

The rhymers

I have a problem with the rhymers, it

is something in their prose;

it’s a thing to which they won’t admit,

but I think it’s on the nose.


The metric of the meter provides

a rigid cage for them

to push and shove and fit inside

the words to match their whim.


These rules once set and locked

lay out the path ahead

but I see it as creatively blocked

as the rhyme by the nose they are led.


So free verse truly appeals to me,

my own path I must cut and make,

the rhymers say it lacks discipline, see

I think more discipline it takes.