Sunday, April 04, 2021

NaPoWriMo, Day Four, Poem Three


Down to count
own fall
check shoulders
on the mat
yet you
just sit.
Junkie nod
sans junk
is easy
just wait 
and assess
where you are

days end
veins empty
fixless fade
to nothing.

Strung out
all legal

life leads

to more drugs
if smart.
James Joyce's saffron touched
love letters are up to his relatives

to handle. He got away scot-free,
let his yearnings jut out

No comments: