deepundergroundpoetry.com

April Fool’s Day: Day Nineteen

(quatern)
It smells so dead ‘April Fool’s Day,
Familiar sights yawned my return,
To friends - I’d never been away,
My hobbled cane of no concern.

The parties still reek of spilled beer,
It smells so dead ‘April Fool’s Day,
Still Chronic Town, though SHE’s not here,
Still chronic hope, still soul’s dismay.

How drinking stills this disarray,
And midnight ACID runs surprise,
It smells so dead ‘April Fool’s Day,
Burned, damp, austere in failed sunrise.

I stumble on, not knowing why,
Through nights of sleepless dreams convey
In wants that cast themselves away,
It smells so dead ‘April Fool’s Day.

19/30

Words:  100
Unique Words: 70

#NaPoWriMo2019

NaPoGloPoWriMo2019
Written by Hepcat61 (geoff cat)
Published
Author's Note
My move back to Athens, GA - April 1, 1984.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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The author encourages honest critique.

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