Death of a Shoestring Wednesday my shoestring died, torn in half by my own hands. It was an awful bloody cotton mess; fray and fuzz all over the floor; an ordeal that required Valium, a wake and heavy drinking to celebrate and forget my lost comrade. © SB Joy, 2022
Dogma Mine Forgive me, for I can be a contaminate Spewing forth toxins, splattering everybody with stench, the slow smell of sulfur That’s filling your brains and my nostrils My tongue is a fire and my jowls a jackhammer. I have just eaten my prey and it is you I have dined on your weakness …
Skinned A family can survive major pruning. The loss of parent, grandparent, child. However, a family tree can’t survive without its bark. The stripping away of my childhood’s outer layer. The intentional toughing up routines backfired, thinning the skin until raw and every word or touch burned like a bare light socket sunk into my …
Crumb I have a hard time telling differences. Like the difference between a crumb or a loaf. A feast or morsel. I’ve fallen for the same trick since birth. A sleight of hand and a hopeful imagination itching to pull a loaf out of a crumb? You see, what’s obvious to you isn’t to me. …
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