A LIGHT SO INTOXICATING
The street lamp hung on its
every word, foul-mouth moth,
playing around the light bulb.
The moth spat out stories from
its night before. It would not stop
and continued to make the street
lamp blush. The moth was drunk
with warm light. It asked the
street lamp to go steady. It told
the street lamp it never felt a
light so intoxicating. It moved
in back and forth, mouthing foul
words, until it was out of breath.
It pressed against the light bulb,
a burning hunk of moth.
FALL AT MY OWN RISK
I fall
at my own
risk, gave up
on wings
featherless
without
bitterness
blue always
but
still
there
This blog was the successor to the poetry section of the now no longer existing The Argotist Online. This blog is also no longer active, and is now just an archive.
Poem by Stephen Bett
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