Strangers in the Sheets
And if we passed would you stop to say hello?
Would I in turn not simply go?
There but for the Grace…
Of some forgotten face
Perhaps, you’d see me in the rain
But was it I? Or simply your pain
Projecting outwards upon the place
Here
There
And
everywhere,
I see your face
In truth that time will come
When the heart’s ache
Shall come undone
But until then my once and lonely dear
You’ll jump at my shadow, in your fear.
Ode to the Deadlift
Purity of will
Clashing iron
Sense of still
Core of power
Flesh like glass
Desire towers
Hold
Steady
It slips away
Without straps he gasps,
Done for the day
Sin-der
Swipe, Swipe, Swipe
Maybe you’ll get
That elusive Like
So now you can be
Another option,
Plucked off the tree
No smell, no sound, nor sight
Allowed to sway
Lest you take fright
Perfectly pixeled places
Frozen in time
With hollow faces.
Wedding Cake Foul
The fags want a cake
So YOU better go bake
Oh,
They’ll cry and scream
Forever unclean
As they seek to destroy,
Their life just a toy
Minor fun to be had
They marry for a fad
Not aware they are muppets
Commanded like puppets
By the rich and the few
Who hate me and you.
Arthur Powell resides somewhere in CONUS and spends his time attempting to write poetry, trying to shoot better, and preparing for civilization’s collapse. He runs a poetry journal called Atop the Cliffs, which is always open for submissions, and can also be found wasting breath on Twitter. He likes cheap lager and good Scotch, but not at the same time.
