I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Nostalgia for the sweet, spousal swivel Moments when surprise synchronizes eyes Will yield, as the early blossoms shrivel
By D. J. Reddallabout a month ago in Poets
Never mind the center holding Who can discern a center in this malevolent maelstrom of madness? Avarice is our guiding angel
By D. J. Reddall2 months ago in Poets
Bounty hunters are seldom in search of paper towels Satire should never be impossible Everything mundane has been painted with suspicion and terror
We must not allow Simple, polite gratitude To become extinct
Seeking a docile Obedient glutton for Boring punishment
We hate what we do Not understand well enough To simply enjoy
Things have been getting stranger recently Gunshots, sobbing, loud talk of ballrooms Bruised hands gesturing so suspiciously
A copy without an original I am compiled from crisp facsimiles A lovely simulacrum, virginal To vaults of data, I hold shining keys
Solitary hound Have you been abandoned or Have you found freedom?
Otherwise, however, would the tarantulas have it. “Let it be very justice for the world to become full of the storms of our vengeance”—thus do they talk to one another.
Beware those who serve And protect your oppressors They enjoy their work
There are dimensions that I do not miss: The rolling eyes of grudging compromise The petty insults to a source of bliss The shredding of the polite, sweet disguise
