2-line poetry

(basis: little to no abstractions)

i am but a simple mechanism taken advantage of
invented by a dead corpse with a name

........

smoke-laced conversations under fading bulbs
whiskied souls floating down the river Lethe

.......

broken fragments of a wine glass glittering under wide eyes
a pair of cocks, beak to beak, vying for the cry to the rising sun

......

shit grins from within a toilet
chagrin to desire to dig it back up

.......

hair that stands on end and pricks when the skin crawls
under coverlets that should protect the mind's wit