The Writers Voice
The World's
Favourite Literary Website
Affronted, Northeast Portland
by
Brian Anthony Hardie
Even, the basement was empty, the
Sounds of trickling would inject into the
Gutters. The sounds unpleasant to the leafless eye, apart
From the needs of yours truly, Mr. Destruction Enthusiast. What are these
lips
Trying to say? Frankly, the elucidation does not ratify your sermon.
But who is to blame in the first place? Your Soul Provider? The crooning
Homeless just blocks away from your temporary residence?!
…I cower
…I crouch
…I crawl
Alone in the grass hills, the wall returning the ball. You
Call out to imaginary players, wishing, “vamoose, vamoose!” as
They randomly drop anchor.
Making headway, pushing on from unwashed carpets. If you feel
So obliged to understand, remember this: You are burning away
In a land of guilt, your feet are a Roman spring in the sand, all but to
Petrified to swim away. My friend, do not feel accompanied by gentle hands.
Exhale with half a breath and let the tide weep in your wake.
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