Ryan Bird


Two Poems
The Guilty, Drunken Dirge of Lot

‘Wasting away again
in old Gomorrah-ville.
Searchin’ for my
lost pillar of salt.
Some people claim
that there’s a woman to blame,
but I know she was bad
to the bone.’



Two Staples Each

we
folded
chapbooks,
mere
footsteps
from
the
place
where
an
awkward
marriage
once
occurred.

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