Abora

glass onion

5/26/19 1123PM

 

the prevailing smell

is stale smoke and sidewinder molt

each day it seems like i shed

fluctuating happy or angry

it’s all of me

 

drinking firewater and hoping

i go blind before i see my sordid

prophecies come true

those spent alone in a burned out

hut, perched on a rooftop

 

you, the reader

i am no longer in isolation

surrounded by faces of delirious snark

i create my own now

and you benefit

i guess

 

traditional rush of rust, my wasteland internals shine

proudly with axle grease

 

the sun came up today and i had to move

the year so far is such sweet climate change

that it feels like a horrible dream

and i am back, again, for my times of slouching

across sun baked parking lots

 

let me be reborn

as one with the weeds

reaching daintily

as i crowd out blatantly

the good crops i can reach

 

 

Comments1

  • lonelyraccoon

    This is a very interesting peace, the way you describe all these things blend together very well, well done



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