discard :: 4

i didn't expect a sign

after unclasping the first grasp
a stranger a strange bar a strange city
he spoke to me

i rarely chat but this time i did
and found an ordinary old-man rhymer
proud of his ordinary lines
clasping his love for a heroin fuck-wit
she's his siren
she's spending his blood

perhaps he spoke a novel's plot
to impress
for there was no anger

but he has gifted me

image: poem




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