the Village of Pondering Paupers



I always will…

Cross against the light

Chase hot tracks

Create fiction over fact.

Use charm instead of tact.

I always will.

Or, so it seems,

fan fears from obscuring my heart.

Take puzzles apart.

Cheat before the game starts.

Hold the fix of an opponent’s stare.

Complete a dare.


It has always been my lot…


believe in broken clocks.

Practice rolling stops.

Pick Pandora’s box.

My blood?

Part junkyard dog,

laced with feral cat.

Just a run of the mill poetic pack rat.


I always will be,

a worn woolen sweater’s tag along,

a jagged little pill.

A rolling stone running up a down sloped hill.

Human embodiment of excrement-ed bad manners.

A collection of one hit wonders.

Forever dabbling in a village filled with pondering paupers.

I am my own field and stream pin-up.

This is my lot…

a mongrel hot spot.


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