Thrift Scop

Tomato

Like anger

Like rock under your tongue

Like battery acid

Like slice and trellis 

Like June

Like season

Midnight Aubade

Look up at the sky.

Bright seeps from every streetlamp.

Our light has so polluted

That we cannot see the stars.

Press your forehead into mine.

I’ve missed my bus already.

Press your feet up from the porch

To walk me halfway home.

Fingers untwine at the intersection.

I lift my eyes to those star-void skies

Then warm them on the streetlights.

The vampire eats lunch

At his cubicle desk

It’s a messy process still, though

He’ll wipe up the blood with some Wet Ones and rags

And browse through his inbox once more

He cannot go hunting

So late in the night

When he has his rent still to pay

He sleeps through the eve and he wakes up at nine

Then works for the man through the day

The office is perfect 

For one such as him

Where sunlight can’t singe out his eyes

Where multitude colleagues will line up nearby

Enheduanna

Wake up with the moon her father

To toast spices on your stove.

Tear a new page from your book of Psalms

For she, the Farmer’s wife

She is jealous in love,

Known to carry knives in her purse,

But she will gather the YOU

Hey friends! I’m getting all my awful poetry out during NaPoWriMo and wanted a place to post my stuff for motivation. If you want to follow my Instagram and see my awful handwriting, follow me @thriftscop.

I’m going to post all my previously written stuff tonight and continue to update through the month.