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 fuckwit
she’s his siren
she’s spending his blood

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

but he has gifted me





this archive is hosted by arts & ego
© 1978–2022 dylan harris