There’s a third player in this game, I’ve never met him, And I don’t know his name, But I do know that he is a man, With hands like a woman, And breath like Southern Comfort, And a voice like Billy the Kid, And a white-pearl smile, And he’s got kid gloves, And light brown [...]
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I had this harsh dose of reality handed to me when I received a gem, a diamond of advice in the rough, from an individual who I later learned was a drug-dealing pimp. I won’t speak for the entirety of the middle class, but I have found a certain outlook appears to rule the roost when it comes to the debates I have with friends who identify themselves with the middle class. The core values that comprise success itself are permissible only within a certain set of circumstances, which to an extent, limits their function within society, and debilitates the power of their capabilities in our lives. When you begin to dissect your fever / You begin to direct your pain / And thrive in marginal regions … I know what you’re planning, / Tonight, on scamming, / And frightening me… …Around the hinges and around the bend, / Of the corner, / The coroner of all things foreign… April 20, 2010, at 3:00 pm — Arts and Culture | Poetry | Writing — Joanna Lord / poem / Poetry / THEME: poetry
Heretics are everywhere … April 19, 2010, at 3:00 pm — Arts and Culture | Poetry | Writing — Joanna Lord / poem / Poetry / THEME: poetry
Sick demon, |
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