he shrugs her to death
raised her others,
lowered all but her platelets
grit, mineral oil, and redeeming finger soil
she beaker-ed exams, tilled, laundered
a retirement, of chequered, unselfish boots to the head.
sighed like justice, fallowed, and grew ever smaller.
checking off the list:
prodigal worried thighs
dropped pick-up nickels of time
on inconsiderate tectonic plates
© Ronald Seatter
published in bywords.ca
the i in q
I now raise even shape in words,
flat in paper and breathe known air.
I have words and letters to fasten in wood and
rock under pages and photosynthesis.
I know a suspense in arc, an each in death.
notes that evolve pauses in lingered streams.
published in Bywords
three chord bands
and lifted palms
digest a distrust
and takes it
my english teacher may have been sighing mad
Hamlet was an optimist. and Desdemona was bleeding. just believe it.
Mme. was not an ovary. can I kiss you, O feel ya? is not appropriate.
sing One Tin Soldier until they are all there (points to his head).
the theme is unrequited love. why do you think there are suicide hotlines?
stop making your thesaurus roar, wasn’t funny the first time.
its ‘honest puck’ with a P. it doesn’t matter that Hercules wore a skirt.
yes I know what a cliche is. Bysshe not bitchass.
alliteration does not give you the right to swear.
you will fit into this plexi-glass box, your head with your coccyx.
that is writing. no. I’m sad at you, not mad. you will go away.
published in Bywords.ca