It was hard to be in a misanthropic state of mind after a stint in Hawaii, and then I just let things get away from me. I can't guarantee I'll get back up to a weekly or even bi-weekly pace, but dear readers, consider the following the seal-breaker of a new flood (or trickle) of content:
Seven of Clubs - Misanthropy
6 - Sapphic Ode
Trash compactor stench lingers acrid along
Tar and granite arteries bleeding live noise:
Coughs, carousing laughs, empty bleating voices
Warped as this scaffold -
Corrugated aluminum that breezes
Teeters loudly below a burned-out building
Whistles sound as bricks, cement fall demolished
Dusting sidewalks where
All the city colors coalesce blue-gold
Needles float cascading through gutter water
Rainbowed beneath black Baptist church or gray gay
Bar with a torn flag
There or law practices or beside flower sellers
Under my feet even as I cross fourth street
Dry-mouthed shaking mess but I'm lucid among
Cruel ashen faces
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