full of common cold
head shuts down
story production
from where we’re at
the edge of reason seems
like paradise
Screen-captivated,
she misses how real life
snags and unravels.
The cup sits between us, steaming
innocently, like your bog-standard brew.
Never looking up, he says, ‘Y’know wotcha gotta do.’
***
Thank you, Literary Lion, for the 25-word limit and the prompt: Drink Me.
Cure for sports blues:
Take lazy backside to beach
And run it off.
Sunday morning run
Sand blowing across the beach
Like alpine snow drifts
***
If you’re wondering what this six-word nonsense is, you clearly missed yesterday’s One Year Anniversary post.
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