A hot-air soap box
Self-appointed arbiter of reality hovering above it
Awakened
Targets sighted in at a distance
Scoff. Scoff.
Dialed in that detective’s sneer
Locked
Gospel spewing with conviction
Fingers tipping
“LIES!”
– Riveting —
Mediocre drivel dribbling drool swishing the lower bowl’s drooping swoop into the terminal tip
White crispy crust stained corners of the lips powdering prints like a crime scene
-
Author:
CanaryInTheGrave (
Offline) - Published: September 13th, 2026 19:20
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 16
Offline)
Comments1
It seems to me some people are locked in their conviction being rather stiff and judgmental. Nicely painted.
Thanks, SB.
Most welcome
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.