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A Bloodhound Stare
A Bloodhound Stare I sidestep menwith Cyrillic cipheredtattooed arms,men ruinedby drink, androtting from the inside out.Men who sleep awaytheir narrow days,scarred with memoryand a bloodhound stare.I’ve known such men. They’re a spreading stain. © Misky 2020
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A Golden Shovel for dVerse
Under the 500 Spires of Prague It’s the same dream of 500 golden spires, hereby the fast-flowing waters of Bohemia. Areyou and I just vanished reflections off theold Charles bridge? Are we the fallen red tulipsthat are rolled and floating into damp buddedfolds? We stroll the ridge of mortar rot, andfeed stray dogs our bread.…
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dVerse Goes Gothic
An Unscented Rose She stoodon the hillaloneon the cliff’s ridge,seeing only bleaknessin the sunin the sea, bluewashed curtained sky. Gone.Donewhen his carriagewas drawnand broken.His journeyblackened into descent. His onyx-black coffin,a processionwith those unscented roses.Why, too, did theirfragrance escape. Where she once stoodwhere the sun settledinto night’s ruins,where stones throwthemselves from cliffs,where she neversaw the quietof…
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Twiglets #207
You Can Always Trust a Monkey Oh, yes, I peel bananaslike a monkey, and And I love soft ice creammoulded like Plasticine. And I itch, I scratch,I hoot and scowl, I am a monkey,an emotional ape. And I hate the cold,and growing old. I’m grey and silver, beholdthis pale old drape. I tumble. I stumble…
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dVerse Quadrille #118
An Old Small Song There’s smokefrom the dying fire in her eyes, it bites deep at her heart,and she sings an old small song. Laughs. Then cries.Old flames never die, she says, and then nods-off into her past years as the inglenook’s firegoes cold. dVerse quadrille #118 “inglenook”. 44-words, sans title. © Misky 2020 Photo…
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for Poets United
The Look I rememberit was the season of acornsand blow-sideways long-winded cloudsand tidal nights,and the weather was a serpentthat God had createdfor poets to muse over, like they do about a proper English summer, or a cast iron cooking pot preferred by cannibals in New Guinea, …
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dVerse Prosery
It’s Life She pays a woman to tell her fortune. Her future. Says this woman is brilliant. Sees stuff. All done over the telephone. You should talk to her, she’ll tell your future, she says. But I don’t want to know my future. I prefer to roll along like a drunk stumbling over my own…
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for dverse “Synesthesia #2”
On a Lightning Edge with Bob Dylan Somewhere between the sun’sburnt-orb fall and evening’sblackened toll, we saw freedomslip inside midnight’s door. Thunder flashed,purple streaks,shook our windows,and rattled walls. Lightning fingers, violet pearls.We saw night’s dark eyeswild a wolf as ever did fight. Our tongues were brokenwhen freedom flashed.This purple light,how does it feel. How does it…
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dVerse Travels #2
She said, If a Red Fox had Crossed Somewhere, That Area was Safe* No red fox has crossed my path,or blessed this journey, butI’ve crossed the line enough. Hands down, this day isbecoming an argument. I dropped a plate this morning.It broke into angles and pieces.I stared at it far too long. Just stared, and…
It's Still Life 