The Gushing Flues of Blushing Blue

winds rattle at home’s cheap
fixtures n’ fester up my
tender nose,

as crumbs of soul just breeze
astray with any dignities
long pissed away,

n’ soak into heap
o’ raked up

stormy grey after grey-
i’m shaking hands with
all the same days,

and now i open up
but only for a hug that waits
a welcome mat

in the flushed out town
of blushing

where dinner tables
hold lone vigil

come flush me out stale room
like raw sewage from
some gagging



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