the sieve and the sand

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

met a

by David X. Hugo

i want to find all the beauty
i want to take it home
i want to spread it on my sheets
i want to wear it out
and i will do my laundry
the detergent will break it down
and i will search again

About the Time…

by beighartman

At which things started breaking
Was about the time when fists started flying
Which was shortly after the apoplexy set in
Which was preceded by shrill screaming
That had elevated from guttural yelling
As a result of voices trumping one another
Heightening in octave with every rebuttal
As body language and seething glares
No longer conceived the harm inflicted
Which was about the time or soon after
One diminutive and seemingly inconsequential
Sardonic comment had been uttered
In the delicate form a of solitary word

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