So . . .

I don’t write all that much
due to long intervals of
not giving a fuck
and liquorice black
depression that creeps up –
or maybe not up but in,
or maybe it just sinks
down around me like a
cloud without wind
But there’s profit
to be had from
sadness, a spendable
commodity in poetry
where joy doesn’t
pay as well
as trips
across hell
and see? It
carried me
through this poem
and that’s swell

Categories: Poetry

Tagged as: , , , ,

12 replies »

  1. Dragonfire, do you play guitar?

    Your poetry, the coda structure and rhythm of pause, along with your method of enjambement, reminds me a lot of guitar cords. I do not play it, therefore, I cannot translate the mellifluous nature into a playable form.

    Perhaps I’m wrong, and making myself a fool. Regardless, you remind me of Bukowski with a bigger inflection on musicality, which I love. You transmit that bottom of seismic release, which replicates… replicates… and culminates in fading peace.

    Quite a marvel.


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