— Posted in words

New Poem From Phil Wormuth


Nose in Wine

By Phil Wormuth


Ogling gull epithets.

Pockets lousy with bread.

Splayed-out long-ways on the beach

(ripe for the tide)


the foul-mouthed bottle speaks

…just out of reach.

Glass in my eye

(nose in wine.)




Note: We all experience low points in our lives; unfortunately for the subject of this poem, it happened at high tide.


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