My Particulars

My canyon walls are apaloosasas and calicos
looking up into the stars with heavy trepidation
as mixed up and wild as the best virtuosos
scraping sharp edges off of all creation.

I am neck of a bottle of blood and guts
broken and ground off around your ring finger
it is singing a ballad about Caribbean pirates
it is playing a blues about overcoming anger.

You’ve got your knuckles around my particulars
I have your dialect stuck between my ribs.

Do not take your guitar down to the docks
crocs own the saltwater along with the pelicans
rivers all come here to feed the predators
the coast is clear but still up for grabs.

I write not poems but more like scribbled
memories about girlfriends and curses God sent me
everyone in this part of the country is an artist
that shows you how far the definition bends.

You’ve got your knuckles around my particulars
I have your dialect stuck between my ribs.

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About mrsorenson

all over the place
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One Response to My Particulars

  1. huzaifazoom says:

    “everyone in this part of the country is an artist/that shows you how far the definition bends.
    You’ve got your knuckles around my particulars/I have your dialect stuck between my ribs.”

    Nice capture of reader/writer entanglement.

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