Poem draft: horribly, horribly rough

[banjopwhistle]

Regrets

I will die a quiet death,
not one of pomp, or ridiculuous circumstances.
No acrid fog of gunfire; no dangled limbs
and spilled hair in a gauzy after dinner glow,
from the woman I’d been seeing, on the side,
and her husband’s thick fist and flint swerve
of a tire iron, an almost orchestral movement,
his conductor’s grace, beautiful and

Comments

[retardedgirl]

Your words have always been so beautiful.