you rang?

faux-bulb-3d-model

you know, this dance is

just more lurching in the dark

let’s talk in the light

 

 

 

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Writer Highlight Featuring: H Paul Goodwin

Creative Talents Unleashed

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I Don’t Even Get To Say

That I swing both ways.
Because she won’t even look at me.
But this is par for the course,
Head off at ninety,
Peeling labels off sauce,
Amassing salt,
I’ve seen it all before.

What was it she said?
Transparent? One-sided?
A pushover? Unhinged?
As critique, it’s technically weak,
As I have two sides, at least
And four hinges, at the time of press,
And some kinder souls might allow that,
A glass heart ne’er did harm
To fair wench, lest a gentleman hold me ajar,
With his limbs outstretched
And wait and wait but remain unchecked.
And also, i might add, if I may,
This purple coat’s fresh on today.

No exit, no fires, no names in lights,
Royal timber, hewn from evergreen block,
From chainsaw blade and sopping twine,
To brassy push plates and a fat waiter’s behind
That is my jamb…

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date night: fat lip

 

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temple to temple

sex marks the spot

it’s just four small letters,

a microwave and a dog basket

shy from (real) love

 

there’s a mile-wide, shrill divide

the snag to post-marital bliss

in pretending we’re here (sometimes) and

pretending we don’t exist

 

so let’s bitch and eat crisps

and nourish this flaccid guilt

together, for the kids

date night: door

 

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I don’t even get to say

That I swing both ways,

Because she won’t even look at me.

But this is par for the course,

Head off at ninety,

Peeling labels off sauce,

Amassing salt,

I’ve seen it all before.

 

What was it she said?

Transparent? One-sided?

A pushover? Unhinged?

As critique, it’s technically weak,

As I have two sides, at least

And four hinges, at the time of press,

And some kinder souls might allow that,

A glass heart ne’er did harm

To fair wench, lest a gentleman hold me ajar,

With his limbs outstretched

And wait and wait but remain unchecked.

And also, i might add, if I  may,

This coat’s fresh on today.

 

No exit, no fires, no names in lights,

Royal timber, hewn from evergreen block,

From chainsaw blade and sopping twine,

To brassy pushplates and a fat waiter’s behind

That is my jamb, my friends, that is my jamb.

And who goes on a date with a door?

Maybe this isn’t a date, more a fixture.

No, wait, this is a date.

I’m a fixture.