The Poet is a One Man Band

one man band


Burnt and blue

Drop and roll

Red shoes

behind a burgundy baby buggy


Yesterday’s hymn is tomorrow’s

forgotten song

The melancholic music

of failure


That thirteen on her neck

She can only get off

when she’s high

on her back


She stole away

with my silver

She stole away

with my nightingales


She took

my tired

She took

my bored


Alligator jacket and a pistol

in her jeans

Playing hard

at aderral park


My bed not

yet cold

I resolve to never

wind myself again