another damascus day 2

what a stubborn clump of refuse muck
that refuses to quit the foul boot clutch
and find a more hospitable puddle
to swirl and stir pollution into;
guess numbers are starved if a million
zeros even amount to one decent,
upstanding, sanctity-humping, numeral;
oh the heroic hoots bemoan creeping
decadence, erosion of snowy lily
morality; yet how desperately

their stinking digits grasp for whatever
shirttail that mistook a snake pit – no offense
to the real snakes – for a decent cake
and coffee shop. But shortly an eastern
incense is due to blow through the screen
and lay on consolation hands and from the haze
is etched a green go-ahead glow to match
the warm glow with that knows home sweet home
is finally up the lane and there all brand
of phantasmagoric depravity awaits


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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