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Dark Horses

Dark horse walks into the room where there's no room to swing a cat Needs must when the devil drives, I put down that glass and placed a bet a skeptical dicer with eyes half closed
Cherry

you drew on your cigarettes

You'd stand drawing on a cigarette with such languor and contempt. A scream of dissent, to the requirements of loss, you know, that debt that we must all at times settle.

The elegant Slaughterhouse

On the table, there's a few piles, of paper , on some of them, in some place, the silver dust is scratched away, and where the halides and tones are gone there's a sharp, clean incisive cut

WHO BELIEVES IN THE DEVIL ANYWAY?

WHO BELIEVES IN THE DEVIL ANYWAY? © Mollie Kay Smith

'The ghost-moon wastes his wax'

The ghost-moon wastes his wax - Drips it down a fishing line to us, Adrift on a noiseless sea. Like the voices of the dead, Wandering in white noise, The ghost-moon wastes his wax.

ALL THAT GLITTERS

ALL THAT GLITTERS…. © Mollie Kay Smith

POEM: Breaking Through.

Are superiority complexes are born of fear or ignorance?

POEM: The Wailing Wall.

A postscript to God.

A GOOD WAY TO GO

A GOOD WAY TO GO © Mollie Kay Smith