meaningless – a.duncan (A WOMAN IS A POEM)

a surplus of insufferable somethings

business cards, stubs of nicotine

a dented penny, a flask of whiskey

phone numbers shitfaced scribbled

on cocktail napkins and folded

like pornographic origami

like a bra made of onyx lace

placed in the sagging back pocket

of some random man’s parachute pants

with a faux peridot rosary

and a bent barbers comb

could-be’s condensed

like milk

like ivory keys

affections defeated by the voyeur of morning

reckless / unrequited / menial / meaningless

prone to the drones of synthetic opium

as he scuffs the concrete platform

with the dragging steps

of disintegrating combat boots

ferries his marginally inked exoskeleton

onto a subway train in Brooklyn

the capital of epidemiological doom

deserving of the full eight syllables

alcatraz of the east

citadel of sardonic illusionists

where the buildings shield

the insomniac graffiti artists

and walstreet wallflowers

from sunlight and consequence

someone at a dive bar said uv rays

are the same thing as existential dread

so he stands crooked jaw’d in tunnels

dispensing unsolicited wisdoms

on unsuspecting individuals

he plans a low budget wedding

as I laugh from the mast of a war ship

built from a surplus

of intellect and popsicle sticks

having forgotten how to forgive

the little white lies

that lead straight to the hem

of that hideous plus size bridal dress

but April—

love is patient

love is kind

and love is blind like Helen Keller

in a power outage

and love hides like Ann (with an e)

the diarist straddling a germanic rafter

I fought so many wars on behalf

of other people

I stopped caring who won

a. duncan, 2020

the lion’s outside of your door
the wolf’s in your bed
the lion’s claws are sharpened for war
the wolf’s teeth are red

both the wolf and lion crave
the same thing in the end

video featured track: ‘a moment of fire’ by lo-fi beats and chillhop chancellor

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Published by grumpygorman

I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...

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