News Flash (4 of )6

With a string of bad luck so it would seem I have completed a new chapter in self-survival. Move on, move forward, don’t look back, don’t hesitate, march, head high, chest out, by my side, alone at last, with love all around, re-enter and re-emerge a new vessel a new being of which I haven’t seen since you told me you loved me. Kiss me one more time and I will wear your lips on my soul for days and days to elapse without promise of sobriety I have a higher chance of relapse when the drug is your love and the vice is my virtue. I dry out this vein with a tapped water main and watch as you enter a place once condemned.

News Flash (3 of 6)

Take a moment to count this beating drum underneath my ribs and listen for the skip as this organ is flawed like a worn down record forever on loop this needle is dragging across the vein of sober days with rainy ways to counter balance a haze on horizons so bleak. Whisper to this heart, a lullaby if you will, and listen to the response as it continues its drone. Chant a hymn to the choir and reverberate distracted control is in the hands of the one whom chooses to fade away to the back.

News Flash (2 of 6)

Somber is the gent who has but a cent to his name goes by Hal but most of all with a hat pulled above the brow he sways away with a pocket watch in his palm, greased back hair and a bright white smile covers the damaged interior of this fragile man. Hey Hal – its me – god – are you listening?

News Flash (1 of 6)

Motion the approval with a flick of your wrist bounces back from your arm is a compound fracture where a hair line so thin underlies all existence is being and being is resisting with our tethered will and lay broken still.
Write about me with your eerie penmanship, regale a story about the fallen soldier whose wounds are pleated with envious wraps withdrawing him from a certain hell. Shadow the sun with your heavyhearted hand and push the clouds back with a bat of an eyelash.
Suckling, the fruit of forbidden gardens you pray, optimistically, with your hands clasped together, for a better fate than this one, but you are stunned by the end, so while you meander about with a sigh and a bout with click in your step and a grin on your lips you can fathom me with all my powerless to the holy divinity a trilogy of Episcopal proportions.
The unconventional mechanism of twisted diluted fate where we embark on an exploration of tidal times with tilted minds swivel in confusion to ignore the illusion of a squint in the eye of a lesser powered vision.