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

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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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