I Picked At An Appetizer

1 min read

three sheets to the wind
the late afternoon in bedclothes

Well, I suppose
I might compose
to foreclose
that sore thumb
cliché that leads

but how about a hand
for the bleeding edge
that suggest your appreciation
for the anachronistic atmospherics
is more nail than hammered

it’s intoxicating…
trusting one’s audience-
and that barkeep’s pour
when drinking one’s lunch

I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

Comments? Cool!

%d bloggers like this: