tossed like a hound
whipped about by strong
evil arms. we’re debris
these days. and the sinister
goofball wants a cut of the flesh.
it is his era
now. his wipes his mouth
kissing the boot.
me? I say, if it won’t trickle down,
let’s make them bleed a bit.
Well, it looks like I've majorly lapsed on the poem-a-day habit. Not to worry. I'm taking a short break to finish the Balkey story line....
“What,” the young, scarred and scabbed Scib said, “did Mr. Pin calm him – Bixson-” And Balkey closed the gap as soon as the word left the...
Tell him Coral has finally gone sour and the Pin is as crooked as we all thought,” fryed Balkey and eyed the straight and tall, the...