Poetry Archives

Possessed

They talk too loud,

swear too loud -

look too dark;

and never go anywhere.



They're escorting me day and night

with their rumble of death.

They are everywhere.



All hell is breaking out

into legions of smiles and a shout.

The devil licks his chops,

preparing a feast for my life.



The spirits of low-life

get out their little bibs.

Wonders - pain - terror again,

sorrow to the bone.

Quihadi