No-tomorrow

No-tomorrow

The price is blood, but who cares? Glory
is cool and delicious
slide into no-tomorrow
like another cold beer.
The eagle said, “take it
to the limit one more time.”
And I ache to join him soaring
ruffle feather screams in the stratosphere.

The price is blood, but who cares? Glory
is not for regular guy.
Glory is the exclusive province of no-tomorrow man.
Feel and do.
Feel and do.
Bleed and scream
shriek glorious now
at the top of my drunken lungs.

The price is blood, but who cares? Glory
is fights and lovers
in the damp alley.
And in the ruffle-pink sins.
No-tomorrow man would be my god.
And I his high priest seeking
converts with a punch or a kiss
in the violent haze of now
who can tell which is which?

The price is blood.
Always so much blood.

No-tomorrow

DavidBulley

Joined January 2008

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poem

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in moment poem

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desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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