Poetry · Writing

igor

transfused:

bleeding finger tips

over your tan washed drum kit

dragging your worship like a rotting corpse.

early on sundays to meet

before wandering eyes can undress

my wishful thinking;wishing

and put her in wolf fur.

i am sorry for missing our date

not one to do that

but

i can’t promise

that it won’t

happen again

Poetry · Writing

leap leap

jump jump

let the past be past

jump jump

the slam behind

is the closet for the nines

fines build

lines fluid

jump jump

the rope

jump jump

the broom

jump higher

higher flyer

on a billboard

off the closest exit

in the old closet

jump jump

the old days

Poetry · Writing

playoff game

we lost.

we were barely playing,

showed up late

cussed each other out

finished strong

too not show up when it mattered most;

it’s not all you

i know the ball could have been better

not perfect, just better

we were never perfect

just humans

showing up each game

playing for our lives