The moaning mouth of morning
woke you with a start, ache
to the bones of your teeth
out of the last hot gasp
of a dream
of a greenery maze
you followed broken branches
the heady aroma of jasmine
that blooms white under moonlight
to the end of the existential labyrinth
where you asserted yourself
announced who you were
to the hairy minotaur man
who laughed, whinnied, thrust
his small power at you, you
shrank down, withering
you chose to drown again
in your maudlin wine glass
tiny woman spilling over
until you stood up tall
hefted a whiskey toast
the battle cry of your genes
outlasting, outlouding
the embittered baby monster
boiling in your blood.
We're the Ezine dedicated to all things barroom. We are slightly off what others consider the norm and always the last to close the bar. If you prefer the local dive bar to the glitz of some overpriced club then you're our kind of people. So welcome grab a drink and enjoy.
Friday, March 8, 2024
Just Another Hungover Day By Mickey J. Corrigan
Originally from Boston, Mickey J. Corrigan writes tropical noir with a dark humor. Her poetry has been widely published in literary journals and chapbooks. In 2020, Grandma Moses Press released Florida Man. Her novel The Physics of Grief puts the fun back in funerals while taking a serious look at the process of mourning (QuoScript, UK, 2021).
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
FAIRBANKS By Kent Fielding
with a line after Bukowski The swallows are rough today like ingrown toenails As I wake hung-over again, again in a room I do not recogniz...
-
near the on-ramp of I-10 in Crowley, Louisiana we unload our band equipment into the back of Gozzlebeck’s not the real name of the bar but a...
-
Diamond hair Bathe in bourbon and butter You are my Sunday prayer You are everything You are all You are life Rita S. Spalding has had poem...
-
there is a woman who is sometimes at my local cafĂ© sitting outside with a glass of white wine and that’s not too unusual but i always notice...
No comments:
Post a Comment