Plastic Surgery

by ©ad_poet. escapees move like the steam from a saturday night’s barbeque dinner. there’s me & there’s wine – a little darker than my blood,pouring into wine glasses, & mine’s from a stitched wound, you smell something different; hear somethingdifferent: an old cloth ripping, tired of new patches [with worn out sutures].stitches here. stitches there.Continue reading “Plastic Surgery”

Time Travel

she’s sittingon the other side of the couch,eyes on the clock. watching it tick slowly, taking it inlike the constant taste of the cat-o’-nine-tails;with the want to skilder another lifefrom death. i see herwaitingat mordecai’s grave, with an expectation to turn the time;hoping he’d tell the dead king thata jewess’ still trapped in the past,Continue reading “Time Travel”

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