roach legs were sprouting from the nostrils of my thousand-page novel
*
Spikenard of Mary excited the hair under her arms
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Leaving she offered me a cup of scorched milk
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Fixodent and naked blondes in my dead brother’s bureau drawer
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840 lumens was as far as I could spit
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A giraffe was seen galloping down the street of burning tar
©2022 Patrick Sweeney All rights reserved.
Bedwetter in the germline of pyromaniacs and wild foxes. Constitutionally nervous, ecologically alarmed. Heart half-buried at Stinsford. A life spent dropping imaginary pennies off the Empire State Building.
Cajun Mutt Press 