well that was some
night, become
stumbling rude
crashing daytime
with cats
on the dash
troubling coffee
for thoughts
only bottles will hear

cast-off blue shades
make doubtful
long faces where
messengers tender
letters parting
blinds against summer
one marked “future me”
another sealed
for the past

swearing and oaths
that’s the ticket
makes a list for
Monday: promise
Tuesday: awful racket
Wednesday: fresh hell
Thursday: slow dissolve
Friday: staring contest
past, present,
and suture

Will Davis enjoys the strings of words and scribbles that resemble poetry. Most recently published in Speculate This magazine. Can be found writing under @ByThisWillAlone.