Author Information
Scabbard
calloused hands and chapped lips to sip frothed tipped gold
heat blackened laced brown with foreign glaze
ripped down the seams with incredible pace
if hatred was the motive then it’d eventually stop cold
replaced with creation and moved on down the road
handsome lipped toothless grin and handshakes for miles
but social inadequacies never kept anyone down, why him?
tripping tipsily down another alley, fences allies and a guide home
effervescent, another descendent of addiction
lit sticks drown the lungs of our lonely hero
malice never on the tongue, just bruises from the waltz
of walls and women, proud and timid again, fortune halts
bathed in light and trapped in the middle,
born again but just too late, too little
but what waits gains nothing, and he laid bait for luck
so give him a few minutes and he’ll capture and cut.
