(#11) On men.

Prompt: write a poem in Sapphics

When we drive through fast nights foggy with vodka,
Wild, wolfish distorted coyote howls.
Some say we are reckless, the world is our ship,
She is a dark dawn,

Composing irritation through the mouths of
men and sons gathered around a smooth table.
When we drink our nights away to the sound of
jazz and drugs, we rest.

The cadence of our verbal wallops lights up
an evening otherwise tainted by boredom.
Poor little rich boys in a cold orphanage,
a house by the sea.

-C.

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