Weir’s Beached

  Barren and bold Stone cold bone Alone soot from a sodden stove.   Shook the itch… that conclusive bitch. She felt like poison ivy with a nervous twitch.   Left by itself it could have passed, as a vacant father’s vacant past.   Some beaten Beatnik, however, rode along. Placing passion with an off beat song.   Smoked by grass and distant cat fights. And liberally located ink-ed nights.   Don Quixote plus Don Juan plus a two-legged motored steed. Rambling Rose meets Dirty Deeds.     Continue reading Weir’s Beached