son breaks up through rocks of the ritual grave
he's here a calling, must morbidly stop
the coming to face, wall writing, other's gaze
there were seasons to make another pain layer
of hopscotch players, but this matter is nuclear
return as ant to work through failure as ant
strength to lift interlocked human structures
from their hooks and rafters, catatonia
but he wills upon himself the burden/ yoke
between the thrills and laughter of a singlehood.
by Hoolie
"I'm sorry, Donna."
Limerick Ode To “National Short Person Day”
7 hours ago