Dark Light

When the new gens revisited
epidermal ink
I knew it would be awhile before
they had skin in the game

It was a tell
To the coming tribal
A revival of clan
in a hermitic guise
of a timestamped
betoken

of a coming future broken,
the history of which is
being written,
Right damn now.

——

I could crack open that new Friday bottle of Basil Hayden,
and bourbon up to channel that Nobel Prize winning poet,
with an under earphones and riotous rendition of the last song
on John Wesley Hardin. Those Good Ole Days… People.



Related Posts

Fatal Flex

Late autumn plays the angles To corner the market of dining room pocket litter- A hard wiring of…
%d bloggers like this: