last night
flash of blood inside
cylinder before dropping
hammer down cold sweats
used to be dry sheets
tossing turning old day
dreams
hard to come by authentic ones
cold rusty sinew veins aches deviant dominating conversation
a new glass in hand raised toward
New Year
new me believing in her myth again
there are always other applicants waiting
happens next i’m sorry no one understands
her love and spark was the last vengeance marching
arriving later after sunset fire on chest my muse imitates
road construction bridge building bong hits scorching my throat
downtown wearing a cross of the advocate in bronze leather
strapped heart my chest is brown two rattlesnake vertebrae intertwined
joshua tree thorns taste pierced scapegoat heart before i smelled
her perfume or blood look into the poor begonias appetite waiting for tastes to ferment after waking hungover she realized that she had left her house without her chapstick
The Wolf Kevin Martin is an amateur photographer and poet from Lexington, North Carolina now residing in Pittsburgh, PA. Contributing poems and images to The Arrival Magazine , The Rye Whiskey Review, The Dope Fiend Daily , Cajun Mutt Press , Alien Buddha Press.
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