tagNon-Erotic Poetrytoward a word

toward a word


i'm straining toward
a commotion
licking olives

picked up
off the floor.
i'm slouching,

not to Bethlehem,
but back
from the corner store. high

and Kerouac
left me
craving more.  i'm dotting

all my inhibitions
in bumper
stickers and cold sores.  i'm

still working toward
a word -
believe it -
whistling dixie
at the back door.

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byVictoria_Lucas© 3 comments/ 1493 views/ 0 favorites

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