by D.F.
Long locked doors stand in entrance,
Waiting, do I spit? Cast aside the rage of
Akhilleus, scion of spirit, cloaked in
Silky black.
Restless, rejuvenation, and quiet nothings.
I grasp a gentle sparrow
in hand. Fly bird, galloping along winds,
as does my soul. A somber winter shall
Come. Heft, workingman’s grit, tasked
hard to carry tough objects.
We laughed.
Sacked like Rome, all the wind flushed
Out from your bubble-lungs. Hork
A loogie at the front door to disrespect
Neighbors just moved in. Brown Nosing
your boss on a work day is all you think
about.
The river frog croaks. Hear the ribbit,
Throaty consonants globbing at the
Tongue-end.
Black-bile fills a heart like oil from
the edelwood tree.
© 2023 D.F. All rights reserved.
Click or tap here to see D.F.’s profile.
Use the “Leave a Comment” form below to submit comments on this piece.