Hired to shake his hand
His eyes showed fear in touching me
He lost, rose from the grave
To win two more, by staggering amounts,
Then died in shame. I spoil. Don't near me.
.
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Follow The Interstate
I'll Come Along, She Said
Oh, I really like this piece. Spare, with just a touch of the enigmatic. Have your shrink call mine.
ReplyDeleteWillow,
ReplyDeleteThe poetry tends to be spare, 'down to the bone' if I can manage -- so much so that not a few readers get perplexed, want more clues.
Barbeque, on the other hand, is too messy to handle, and I may just take a tentative bite o' rib and leave the rest for the host's dogs.
(I'll send Dr. X's number via code -- he's just too popular for simple hoi polloi.)
TFool