I. Captivity The stench of bong water that follows like a stagnant cloud. Roll on Old Spice, pock-marked face, tie dye baseball tee. You’re a self medicated stoner with a blowtorch to battle abjection. No D.A.R.E program could keep you from imparting your smoke to me. A secondhand high. Continue reading
poem
Four Doors Down
Did I tell you about the shady business down the hall? Garbage bins line the walls overflowing pizza crust and piss-yellow Mountain Dew.
say it coward say it
your words are a plague- you spread
as you speak
you are not special
My hair is purple and covers one eye so that the Gibson full of mites isn’t a sham. “You look just like your mother when you were that age! But you have your father’s nose.” I wish that wasn’t true. The blob on the bridge makes me look like a harpy.
Les Mans
Moro reflexes tested when
you touch my open palm.
Do you remember?
An inflexible anchor
that hide his eyes while
playing Peek-A-Boo.
hollyisking.com 