The Skew

My twiddle is foggy.

My drumming offbeat.

I’m chocked full of prednisone,

My ticks incomplete.

Oh, what butchery Benadryl can do to a skewed poet and its crooked mind.

Until tomorrow…

Poison Ivy

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

Gravatar
WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out /  Change )

Cancel

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.