the sieve and the sand

Leaving the wheat with the chaff. This is not your mother’s poetry.

the guilt of eyes

by David X. Hugo

u strted 2 play pretnd
i look’d twards alkohal
we can pretnd i kept it downn
things on firre spun our fann
im not much fer pretend
no fun 2 b serrious all the time
can’t quite drive wit hifsting lines

the depth of my consternation

by Roger Mugs

until the wind stops blowing
and for fear of losing the hair
off the top of the back of my
legs to the mere force of the
breeze

i should lay off the beans

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 80 other followers