Grimbeau

Scroodles

Tag: exile

Dry Auden

A struggling writer: a writer struggling;

a beaten brow: a brow beaten.

Quandaries. Sundries. Tuesdays.

Sunday’s Just like Monday’s is…

let’s call it straight, Joey

(not that old crap again!)

you gave me a one way ticket to Pookaville!

Palokaville…

urghh, don’t interject, I was emoting.

Yea sure you was.

On the waterfront there ain’t no latrine duty.

Cryptic as McGillicuddy,

Manhattan wept, just like Jesus did.

Celeste regressed…

237px-Compass_thumbnail

Stop making scents,

tincture your sphincter with

perfidious salve,

snort pulverised juniper,

sweat quinine ampules…

another one soon

stifled in shallow,

lifeless cant.

Too late for love,

like the vestibule

catastrophe nook.

A broken swan

negotiating

burning boats,

safe in a synthesized,

furless chrysalis.