Posting is back on, baby! I am once again pretending that I have my life together.

This week I have another poem for you. Enjoy!

Everyone writes poems about cigarettes.
About smoke, about crushed leaves, about the burn of whiskey in your throat.
About your lips.

Everyone writes poems with a neon glow,
But it’s a dying light.
And they know,
It won’t last long.
It’s a dying light, a dying song.

Because there’s nothing new under the sun,
So we wait for night to fall.
For the ex to call,
For it to all go to hell.

These liquor soaked memories
Will never be my happy golden days or glory years.
Those go back to a brighter light
Glinting off the lake.

To Pi and Gus Gus.
Just us
And the dogs and the wind
And nowhere to go but up.

Tangled curls and tanned backs,
Fists up and feet pounding
Out the melody to dreams we would never see.

Fears flood in
On the heels of these long lost kingdoms.
These days we’re only champions of debt and data plans,
And we only pirate online video.

We were creatures of life.
And now I’m a creature of the night.
And I write these damn poems, too.

XX. Shelby Jo


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