Saturday, April 6, 2013

day poem

for Mary Neal Linker

this hardly ever happens
not since I completed a morph
not since the wild and wooly
days of pandemonium
not since I pranced about
in turpentine perfume
not since unfazed
in fashionable rags
I charged through life
after cleaning the trap
and wielded those brushes
on unsuspecting canvas
drawing my sins in a damp
basement room
not since I gave in to
as lifeline
not since I recognized
daylight’s state of mind
not since I adhered to
real love and sober writing
not since I’d abandoned

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