Practicing with Preacher


I am my father’s daughter.


there is no peace in that disclosure.

The streets of his hometown,

no different than mine.


muddled in illicit history.

Kindred to many a New Hampshire narrative.

Death defiling mysteries.

What child should know of the macabre?

What toddler exchanges tombs for games played in the backyard?


what disciplinarian preaches not of love,

but of living hard?

In the days of,

King of Queens,

not a court,

nor a jester,

investigating behind the scenes.

A small world of brotherhoods.

Of even smaller,


To a degree,

a daily routine.

Of depravity without chastity.

Encouraging socially defying acts.

Performed passively.

Whilst blacking out my own history,


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.