A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.

but aren't they all random?

Thursday, October 29, 2020

Suicidally,

Suicidally, 
I tempted fate 
and tested you 
a bit too late. But you 

have won this joust, this round 

and I will never take you down. 

You are my better. Best, in fact 
I cannot fall where you hold back, 
when you make bank, or check
at chess, to mate. But at your contemptuous,
contemptible ease, I hate 

sometimes, the fact  

that you could lay me 
six feet thick, oh 

please. 

Not that. Unless,
you want. At that, it isn't coy. 
Not droll. It's fatalist 
inevitable, and that's 

the sound, as I fall down. 
I am, or should be 
to you 

as
a vegetable. 

Except 
I was much more than this,
at once. Or relatively.
Comparison's a bitch,
and odious,

they say. 
But I 
can't 
see

even 

one way. 

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