‘Cuse Me

Poetry Freestyle, Lonely Woman
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Free Verse Poetry


I’ve lost your letters,
those ancient, drained of
significance, budgeted posts.
Somehow they were lost to
me among the squatting
pestilence and in the
elusive streets called
bitter and false manna.
Taking an eon of hellish
totes from leafy rolls
that ne’er repeat their
intoxicating reframe,
a loathsome, Dracula smile
and entails filled with
punishing tidbits of
asbestos love, you did
Trample the love you
peddle through cankerous
years and valleys of
penurious pleadings,
found in unfulfilled
hopes and thrown into
open graves. They still
tingle in my mind
like sounds from the
thrashers’ basket.
Secrets pass before your
myopic eyes in my presence,
with the faint smell of
passions’ relics.
There are missing spaces
in the invited heart that
portends the clicking of
locks hiding you from me, a
false crescendo of our fatigued
No answers, only
those crazy calculating
stares and pictures that
fail to inform the empty
heaving hours of our dawns.
Gone are sucklings in the
slack stalls along the
corridors where the red
ants bite, my being rives
from hurts’ neglected care.
I’ve become a Bedouin, a
jihardist pretender to love,
So ‘cuse me if I turn away
my straining tears and keep
a tad of me while I kiss
your sundry, striving tongue.



Photograph by Logan Campbell


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Debra Bishop

Read, don't read, understand, don't understand Fill your mind, or still your mind, It's you who decides. As for me, I' m in the flow. I am a writer. What else is there to say?

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