grim reaper
hands tickle skins
as they tickle girls’ honey
in the splender
in the glory
darkness reigns in dark eyes
hair hanging like the shadow of death
to all those who listen
to the piercing cry
and wicked grinning teeth
frothy broth inhaler
wind surfer
riding the waves of ecstacy
along the brain-pan
of my worst nightmare
the sun smiles for you
but eyes are too blind to see
perhaps the chords of inspiration
halt your vision
little one
thick hands, big
fingers like thumbs
gripping, punching, pulling, pounding
limbs of lumber
a clear-eyed sensory haze
masked by a light, intelligent
Irishman’s hero mug
the girl weeps for her man
she cries for the man she cannot have
while he watches others
and fogged

Published by bernardsbarnes

Writer. Artist. Performer. A little boy dreaming of the stars.

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