Red, my anger.Red, the three stripes of the enemy. Red, Republican red.Red, the color of financial ruin.The red army, waiting around the corner-Pharisees wringing handsdrunk on entrapment. Did I say something wrong?Did I dare offend the malformed consciences?The diseased minds of the do-good pavers–those who raise hell just to make the path to it smoother?DidContinueContinue reading “Seeing Red”
Category Archives: Poetry
Chapbook
Return Visit Dry grass crunches under our feet. Thorns cleave to shoelaces. The sun shines and legs ache. Jeans rub against themselves Like a guiro Keeping time to the song of memories In a wind that is slowly sweeping them away. Hands hide themselves in pockets on hips That remember past pain-free days. The belly,ContinueContinue reading “Chapbook”
RL Martin 