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This Pen Mine
My pen is a hammer. I hold the nails in my mouth. I spent years building my own coffin. I took the measurements and planned what my obituary would read. My pen in a hammer I want to smash in the faces of men. Father let me down. Told me I was to blame. and…
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Recipe for pickled eggs Today my brain is a pickled egg Floating, isolated Inside my skull. My thoughts taste of vinegar. My mouth the mason jar lid. In the night I was boiled Three hours later Cooled and peeled. You must imagine how this feels. How raw A shell removed Fed to the garbage disposal.…
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Poems in bits and bobs, June 2020
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Works In Progress
The above is a contender for the cover design of a collection of poems I hope to publish in the spring of 2018. My emotions canvass everything from fear to exaltation to giving into this luminous desire I have to share this collection of approximately thirty-five poems. I began writing the poems in the summer…