Suffer For Your Art

The poet is drunk
his kisses taste like juniper
crushed seashells
fall from his socks

it must be early
Sunday morning
pastors dreaming
about goldfish

pavement caresses
like a cheese grater
weak knees pray
the inspiration dead

or at least the impulse
to fracture reality
dissect language
bathe in universal blood

to vomit is nothing new
he hurls a sonnet
an alliterative pantoon
raves in blank verse

deciding to end it all
wanders into traffic
amidst an unprecedented
caesura and survives

ends up at a bus stop
where a street walker
wraps him in her sweater
gives him a piece chewing gum

he weeps into his hands
aggravates his cracked skin
and when the bus comes
he doesn’t have fare to board

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a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
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2 Comments on "Suffer For Your Art"

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wow this poem pulled me how very sad this portral of a desperate life.
Ah good poems pull on ones heart or makes them laugh or feel,

Chand Ashish

very moving …..
please write when you are in up swings ….
you are tooooooooo sensuous ……. and a worthy soul …..


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