Poetry · Writing


Post date on everything

(feeling the mail climb to dangerous hoarder level)

dust hugged the curtains like a war veteran

and I’ll feel jealous as an ex lover.

The pens ink soils my hands

(I promised I’d be better)

the liar blinks past like the Flash

and this-

this is Flash Point

and I’m Nora.

Blood dried on my lip

chewing like tabacoo

and the phone will ring.

Covered by yesterday ad covered

by yesterday’s ad and last night’s leftovers

where you’ll find me-


holding a pen hostage

waiting for it to tell thee story.

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