POETRY: Tom Pescatore – OXY


frame by frame

your life escapes me

little white pill

many mashed words in a
mixer like mom’s 1950
powder blue or green
whatever my mind
sticks to whatever
memory pops out

whatever color smells right

like flour
wisps in sunlit circles
and by the time I write this
I am 30 years old
confined to my bed

in pain


higher still

too weak to resist the next four hours.


Visit Tom’s blog.

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Two Roses

leaning against a gravestone.

Tattered twin soldiers of past

lives surpassed.  Blackened

by the brush of sun’s many fingers,

they cling to each other, refusing to relinquish

their kiss.  Their memory

lingers like petals yet to be plucked

by the wind.

Read more "POETRY: A.J. HUFFMAN – Two Roses"