Hoarders

Poems

Hoarders and hoards of
other wordly creatures
fill the street corners,
holding tightly,
fingers clinging,
knuckles white,
to anything that makes them feel
u n i q u e
and whole.
Walking around with plastic bags
full of things that they don’t need.
Blindly reaching for some meaning
among all of this meaninglessness.

I walk by them as I enter the bar
and hope that they find it someday.


My debut novel, DEAD RED FISH, is now on Amazon.
Get it here.

24 thoughts on “Hoarders

  1. We have been
    Programmed
    To believe an
    Identity
    Is
    Purchaseable.
    Counters full of
    Expensive
    Magic
    Tiger’s milk
    Unicorn horns
    Every kind of
    Over
    Under
    Sideways
    Money
    Down the drain
    And yet alcohol and
    Superficial
    Camaraderie
    Are in that
    Mix
    Are they
    Not
    There are all kinds of
    Plastic
    Not just
    Bags of
    Dreams and calories and
    Commercial
    Voodoo
    Wish us all
    Luck
    Because the
    Grand Illusion
    Is fucking
    Us
    All

    Liked by 1 person

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