I can't believe you actually said Leonard Cohen is Ophelia's Opium God" you fuc*%ng boring old earth lady.
Your words make me think of a lady ruffling the clover with white Poe-It lace like a shi*%ty 2002 Emily Dickinson Halloween costume-
"and then like kiwi, I knew your rind, its disposal; and mine."
Go wipe the Kurt Cobain zit on your chin you're so proud of with your snot sleeve sweatjacket. If I gotta hear one more thing about how useful hemp is I swear to God I'm gonna s*%t all of Colorado right on your face.
BUMPING INTO KENT #1
can you still see the rest of the night at the bottom of a shot glass? are there still tan lines to memorize before she finally drops the act? is there still 2 am and the light of streets that will not let us close our eyes?
and there's always another party isn't there? some girl so and so knows whose got some friends and some wine and is it still sweetly mournful coming home after all that? does the morning sun still owe us an explanation?
and here I am running into you now standing so oddly under fluorescent lights still hearing the highway in your eyes still seeing how perfectly frightening it all can be.
"Hey, Mrs. Stuhler how are you doin' today?"
It's really nice looking at the neighbor’s house now that they've moved. She looked like a wrinkled old swine coming in and out of the trouble hut with her important bags and I was sick of smoking cigarettes at 2 or 3 in the morning and seeing that their light was on. It felt like I was still on stage. Inhaling the wet grass and perhaps transcendent surprise unveil of deer is a very scarce experience for me anymore, and I just knew those rich old bone cracks were up there in their pig s*%t wood bed, watching CNN looking for updates. He was the nicer of the two but oh so balls cut, slaved, and drooping pathetic. She must've broke him at least by '71, the fat- old noosed, hemroid smear. It doesn't matter now though, the bushes are dead and the weeds are growing all around where they crapped and snored and peed and worried about what the neighbor's might think.
Bio: Dan Flore's poems have appeared in many publications, including Sick Lit Magazine and Lummox. His first poetry collection is Lapping Water, GenZ Publishing.