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: , , , ,

14 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.


  2. Wonderfully expressive, and personal, writing. It’s one thing to bare the heart, but to bare the soul too…. I wear my heart on my sleeve, but my soul I save for Susanna; much of my writing is for her.
    My head says, I’m glad I found your site. My heart says I’m glad I found you.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s