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.
