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    Stuck in Lodi Again

    Lodi, California, the asphalt melting, just like fondue, chasing the iguana away on it's short peg legs. Hopping like in "hop-scotch," avoiding the hot spots of the asphalt's lava of warm cheese in a fondue pot, stuck in Lodi,...

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    Hypotenuse

    "You don't look like a math person," he said. I didn't answer—the numbers pulsed behind my eyelids, jagged and incomplete where the third side should've been. My fingers twitched toward the chips of ice in my whisky, "straight up...

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    ...a lovely chew

    You have such a lovely chew,Where moon-lit cobwebs drape the stone,In the hush of midnight's vaulted nave,Your whisper sinks like bitter-sweet brine—Petals of ash that gnaw at air, Your breath—a rusted key that turns, A phantom's smile, a serrated...

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    ...a taste of whisky

    ...𝑜𝒻 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓂𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓀𝒾𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒻𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓀𝓎 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓈𝓁𝑜𝓌 𝑔𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓈 𝑜𝓇 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓈 𝒶 𝓂𝒾𝒹𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓉𝑜𝓃𝑔𝓊𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓎. 𝒲𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓈𝒸𝓇𝒾𝓅𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓃𝑒𝒸𝓀 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁 𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓊𝒻𝓁𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝑒𝓈. 𝒩𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒷𝓊𝓉...

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    • This is very nice. A slow burn which gives you the feel of drinking whisky.

    • Passionately penned, Adagio. Nice write my friend. Appreciate you.

      Damian

    • Hoi @Damian,

      Inspired on the artwork and your write:

      een derde mond – plotseling
      smaakte wat naar whiskey
      tribal tattoo op haar dij
      ‘s intimite as can be

      whiskey is geen verleiding
      mijn teken van gevaar
      ‘t is anders als ik er af blijf
      en alleen proef bij haar

      And translated:

      a third mouth – suddenly
      tasted a bit like whiskey
      tribal tattoo on her thigh
      ‘s intimate as can be

      whiskey is not a temptation
      my sign of danger
      it’s different if I stay away from it
      and only taste it on her

      Yours is a lovely write and this is meant as a hats off to that. And you.
      Kind regards, Gus

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    Atticus Abbey wrote a new post

    Song of The Tong

    I spoke long to the gathering, not for echoes to return, but because my tongue hummed, the old song of the tong. As a shadow curled in the corner,the bones of the house yawned, between floorboards to exhale, they simply...

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    • Hoi hoi A.,
      There’s a theory that says that the first four sentences determine, if the reader wants to go on reading.
      And the four of this poem take me by storm.

      Never knew that there is a tong exactly the same as the Dutch Tong. Pronunciation the same as in Dutch too.

      Ah well. Love the poem needless to say.
      Kind regards, Gus

    • Thank you, Gus.

    • Powerfully penned, Adagio. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.

      Damian

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