Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Russ Cope Writes

Kiss Off

She gave me the kiss off,
a fine pucker of not yet.

She gave me the kiss off,
puffed lips that couldn’t stop
spreading half-truth.

She gave me the kiss off,
the story was over, and I
moved on like a White
Snake song triumphant.

Tidal

My courage comes in waves,
washing me away in the ebb
and constant flow, erasing

the features of my face, rubbing
free the crags of my being,
breaking my sharp edges into

smooth and polished places.

He Died Of

He died of the lack
of care he gave himself.
He died of old age,
slumping.
He died of not learning
enough, not reading enough,
his mind said, No more.
We all die of something.

Russ Cope

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