A Portrait
We called him Mr.Chins cuz he had four of ‘em.We called him The Chizzler and he hated it:Always chugged a brew before playing the rube,And taking the pot for himself.…
Poetry by Devon Brock
We called him Mr.Chins cuz he had four of ‘em.We called him The Chizzler and he hated it:Always chugged a brew before playing the rube,And taking the pot for himself.…
The roads here,rum tongued, black toothedand pitted, lead somewhere. I am sure that over the peak of it,splayed out like toes in dry sand,tractioned for tide, a florescence,maybe, maybe down…