anti gravitas

as fates would
taunt fact,

seems i’m all wings
least like you,

it’s almost magic, all
tuckered here in crease
of truth’s tragedy

and no things can spin
bottle ’nuff to hoist a
higher spirit me

than flashbulb frowns
framing anthracite clouds
‘bove balcony couch

casting daily wars
on gravity.

© Anthony Gorman 2019




The chalices spiked greedy, and the sights quick turned seedy as we flowed into…

masquerade 2

’round ravished,
ostentatious room,

flaunts of
mystic blood-house

flatter past walls
and cryptic spaces

myriad grotesque, to
gallant, burlesque
in garnished

in silk, satin-clay
plastic velveteen,
and feather

but what, these
see-through feigns

they reward no

©Anthony Gorman 2019

image: pixabay

peaches and cores

peach 1

on the sturdiest peak
of island tropic

through muffled bullhorn
i atone,

with casting call, blasted
for all grinding teeth to
reach their slippery sleep
in deepest bite-

god’s ripened flesh, our
summer’s passing  peaches,

lashes flutter, shivering faint-
kick-start heartbeat,

lest swarming the rotten cores
in chronic verbal pong

and fine print hang-ups ’bout
patch job impeachments.

©Anthony Gorman 2019