The bad dream that
kills the good dream
the survival by the skin
of one’s teeth.
The good luck that
comes unexpectedly.
Mostly on Tuesdays
the fat man comes
to town
to squabble up the
lean meat of the
unfortunate.
It’s not about
blood and gore
spilled all over the walls
of good intentions
it’s about inspired
conversations with
brainy young women
who experienced life
as polarities of their
emotions.
It’s not about loneliness
entertained with continual
YouTube- movies.
It’s about loss of love
and it’s matching perfection
as rare as blood type
A-minus.
Yeah!
zoltanzelan
ZJG-POetry’17.