... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ...

monologue

just a mongrel, instep only occasionally
mostly off beat. certainly off the
beaten path
half-blooded, one foot
in the River
one foot buried in some
goddamned marsh mud
sweat and blood
sweat and mud
she called to tell me that she wished
she hadn’t wasted the last five years.
sweat and blood
horseshit and mud
there is no retort to insanity
and i’m not sure I can Judge
past the tip of my nose.
but there is a certain sweetness in
the pin prick. breathe
and hope each rant,
each monologue, is
shorter than the
previous.

one day, silence’ll prevail. a
smoldering wick He will not snuff out,
but I will.

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