Old Croak

A new name

fancy underwear

bottles of wine, good weed, scotch and  poker

music on the stereo  a veil separating the years

your hair artfully arranged around your face


nobody would guess how used up and broken you are.

But they know.

We all do

Old Croak.

Inside Out

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Crawl into my skin

dance around in it naked for all the world to see

a desperate copy made on the fly

inside out monster with the old lady laugh

was there really  nothing left for you to be

except the corrupted corpse of me.


Writers Write January Prompts: #3 Laundry