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

The river frog croaks. Hear the ribbit,
Throaty consonants globbing at the

Black-bile fills a heart like oil from
the edelwood tree.

© 2023 D.F.  All rights reserved.

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