This entry is part 13 of 37 in the series Bridge to Nowhere: poems at mid-life


Brainless head.

Five-member mob.

Core sample for a lead mine.

The last word’s epitaph.


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0 Replies to “Fist”

  1. Thanks, Clive and Maria! Praise from you two makes me think I might’ve gotten it right, though for the longest time yesterday I was convinced that these were only the bare bones of a poem.

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