Dead on the Vine

Doubled dipped in the cherry trust 

Twice removed off the cotton crust

Bloated In the common tongue

We twist in quite well,

We dodged the arrows when they loose 

Then pry tooth and nail at natures truth

Bastards they called us on the way out

Till we laughed in 80 proof,

Swine mix in the ripened vine 

To turn the hue into better views

But I’ve lost the words you gave me 

Save the numbers that organize,


Those dimples did me in 

Way back when 

Nothing phone cords and collect calls 

Couldn’t cure,

I wasn’t sure you would be happy to see me

But I’m selfish like that

—saving all the black cats for later

My luck these days are in favor


The simple seconds left suckling 

We pick the plump and pine simple

—Make it a double, she’ll have a Shirley Temple

I hate the rules we give ourself 

And the whips we carry after,

Life is short and sweet at the time

But us?

We were left dead

Ripened once upon time 

—but still just dead

Dead on the vine

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crypticbard's picture

Delicately and deliberately

Delicately and deliberately working toward the final punch!  Ripened but dead just the same. This is bliss to read and absorb. Thanks for sharing.

returning to online poetry, a nomadic journey's picture


Really appreciate you saying that! I Was trying to capture that weird fleeting feeling of awkward one night connections that went no where. Had a few too many of those! 




"Where do you go when nowhere feels like home?"-FBMF