Polymid

A weekly poetry blog describing mostly Sundays. Written by James M. Frost

26 June 2015

Scrambled Notes

Scrambled notes and empty wine bottles
scatterbrained beyond reasonable doubt
listening to old tapes yelling fake Eurekas
and being consumed by the Blackness

shuffled down life’s throat
spit on by one’s peers
a strange fantasy indeed
to be stuck with nowhere to run 
Posted by James M. Frost at 12:12
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