Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
there was nothing to explain here the man’s wife told them everything they needed to know Her husband wrote poetry Yes, that would be enough to explain why he cut off his penis and tried to use it as a pen before collapsing on the desk, blood pooling at his feet below Being a poet was more than enough explanation for what he did She didn’t need to tell the paramedics that her husband had been looking for inspiration “He’s a poet,” was more than enough They understood
His name was always linked to the term elusive and he was universally acknowledged as a brilliant writer and an enchanted poet. And the day came when his little apartment reeked of rotting flesh and the authorities had to break his door down.
There was no family to inform but the whole country was now his family and there would be no problem regarding the burial. Oh, he would go with a ceremony that was bound to become national event. But luckily for the authorities the media didn’t smell the rotting yet. The four cleaners who sealed the apartment and entered to perform the expertise called themselves big and biggest fans of the great, late writer.
“Can you believe this?” one of them said. “We’re alone here with, dare I say it, unpublished manuscripts of The Great One. Oooh, I’m tingling just thinking about it.”
“God, look at this room…
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Feeling super blessed to have my piece "Green Cotton Candy" featured in the illustrious The Yard: Crime Blog. Many thanks to the editor! Read the poem here.
