down for the count
three taps on my left knee
knowing what’s coming i
face down in mud filled eye brushing contacts
remember the joy i find in the
bashing ramming pulling rucking scrumming
screaming
Day: September 2, 2008
sometimes putting my kids to bed sucks
poetryMy heart beating fast
And my voice about to raise-
Released in a *sigh*
dear wal-mart,
poetryfu
ck
the
purpose filled
life
there is no
purpose
in
life,
th
us
it cannot
be purpose
filled.
qu
it
building these
walk-
ways
into
the
slaughtering house
so
the
she
ep
will follow
it.
(you will strip them naked and put their wool back on your shelves)
Regards,
David X. Hugo
They call me the destroyer
poetrysacrificial doves die
welcoming september
with their blood,
dying in agony, irrecon-
cileable to their
peaceful symbolism
“Hot sauce makes everything better” -Ned
poetryFunny how my day was
snatched from the ruins
of wishing for a different life
(or at least a different career)
only to be saved by the glory
of hot sauce bathed goldfish,
dripping Louisiana goodness.
Back when I was young and silly enough to flirt with the word “hollow” (It has been wooing me since, but I will not have it)
poetryI am nothing but hollow
a hole so yellow
my words are like fetid air
all I’ve got is inconsistent despair
I wish to renew my dreams
chase away the stale realms
I, too, was a hoping girl once
but both luck and ball bounce
I’m left with nothing to say
with my years I pay
in tear and sighs, for so long, my cowardness lay
Did I ever think myself worthy?
Did I ever think that I was owed something?
Now I crawl under the shadow of the damned tree
trying to hide while my shame runs free.
the sieve and the sand 