From the 2018 Collection "The Dead Dog Parish"
#anger #deaddogparish #guns #jmartindean #sadness
You can get better, or you can get worse, or you can stay the same. But you can’t change. Nope!
I have this sensation when remembering the poignant noteworthy moments, Lovers, the Dead, crimes—
Needless of a judge, a contrite heart is a bird suspended on a current, shifting myriad planes without asking or telling.
Forget shoplifting, not pushing your cart back to the cart-corral is the true crime. Amazing,
A council Wise Elders decide what mistakes are afforded who and tie color with number
I would lie with my hand on the B… I would lie with my hand on a stac… of Holy Qurans. I would look you dead-in-the-eye, and tell you a lie.
Two onyxes atop another out where the witch frolics, the signal clear, it rang through my throat so loudly I frightened myself:
Like a Somali pirate just pull up on the Grim Reaper, surprise him
There is a most worthy woman, the upper steward of the manor, Obermeyer of Holy Terra, house cute, smokestack simmering,
In Thirty-Four years I can count on two hands how many times I’ve been in my right mind. It is a small percentage.
Ancient meadow preadolescence, burgeoning and righteous never-ending dimension first sighted past your fingertips… is stolen by ambition,
I thought of a human birth And I glanced up ’Twas dusk, early and bright still And close to me it fell through the sky and burned
The duration of a miracle is exactly one moment, after that you may as well be talking about what happened in the big game last night.
Nine times out of ten, it’s a demon you’re seeing, not an angel. They have all kinds of disguises, I know-I know,
One of God’s tricks is, similar to Michael Jordan, It sinks a three-pointer with 1.2 seconds left on the clock,