re-location

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control means
one is
loathe
to claim
instability.
however
tonight yawns
a wall-trembling
shiver, plaster
rendered nil
your dusty, desperate
scurry
rough as burlap. we must
compartmentalize,
relocate the
sectors & sections;
fear
(flung far)
hope
(drawn near)
solace
(if only)

via Daily Prompt: Relocate

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the ignition point of anger

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,

he is not long for this earth
they surmise, noting
a faint blue outline
where his now
shimmering body
stands.
fists clenched, he rocks
back and forth
back
and forth, boots
grinding, heels to toe to
heel to toe,
sparks licking
shins, flame
to knee,
to hip
to shoulder, vapor
thin grimace ‘cross
oh, glowing lips!
we cast our eyes in prayer
or fear
or abject horror, this
electric moment
a taste
of terror, of
acrid smoke,
batteries   tinfoil
sulfur
madness  lightning
boom.

Faint

simmer & sew

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Simmer down,
chill out, you say
in that most annoying way
halfway snide,
hints of rude
(damn that scornful attitude)
What’s your problem?
– here, the posit –
burden falls on me,
or does it?
Do not fret,
for I will fix this!
needle threaded thick,
with stitches –
darning grief and desperation,
anxious whirling machinations,
doubt and worry, pain and fear
-insert mental crisis here-
once together,
seams stretched tight,
all is well
for one more night.

 

 

via Simmer

 

everygirl

Tags

,

she is a
disastrous pleasure
a doe eyed,
kohl eyed
menacing
beauty.
if you are
lucky, she may
(temporarily,
of course)
allow you to lift
the curtain,
find benevolence,
fragile and tenuous,
hidden behind the
smattering of
parking tickets,
coffee fueled dreams
& good intentions
gone wrong

by Melissa Kro.

Disastrous

true carnivore?

Tags

,

As meat eaters go, how hungry are you?
Do you munch from the head to the tail?
Does a plate of delightful sweetbreads make you swoon?
Or do organ meats make you go pale?

Oh, delicacies! From the leftover pluck
A chitterling platter for crunching
Or some honeycomb tripe fried with onions and salt
Who says entrails aren’t for lunching?

A sliver of tongue, a twist of a tail
Pate (fancy mashed liver paste)
Why stop at the hock when the feet can be pickled?
And nothing left over to waste

by Melissa Kro.

Today’s word is

Pluck

and I wanted to avoid writing about courage or eyebrows. This was fun.