Poetry is a craft, as well as an art, and the skills required are demanding. Does it have to make sense? Maybe, but not always and not to every reader.
© Refrains, Trains, and Blood Stains
No more dirty martinis.
No praise for burning bridges.
No lingering of warring breaths.
Duplicitous thoughts are
Transported from damning platforms
To complicity to brain enemas and keep
Chugging like an iron commuter.
Fragile viles discolored by
Hyperbolic rhetoric blacken souls.
Drained life juices soil terra firma.
Liquid words smudged across walls.
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