On the Tail of a Q: September 6

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I’m doing this thing where I drink NyQuil and write “poems,” a term I should really use lightly here. This will help me accomplish two things:

1) My insomnia is dying and I’m feeling tired. Too tired, even. I should be asleep now, but I’m pulling through just to write this for you.

2) I lost what the second part was going to be, but it’s OK. I think you get the gist. I do, so you should too. You’re not the one who’s doped up on NyQuil. That’s me. I am. Because of my insomnia. Sorry, I’m done.

This poem doesn’t have a title, but you understand where I’m coming from. Here it goes.

Bitter ol’ Green Eyes

Atop the Cotton Mountain

Hurling dark horses

Aiming right for the head


Sightless troglodytes

At the Necromancer’s lair

They charge through the gate

In hopes of feeling death


Gold dragons take flight

A new forecast of fire rain

Eye-opening glow

The heat of creature’s breath


Men wait in shadow

Under the Silk Blanket Way

Claustrophobic space

A wire around their necks


Liquid, oh liquid

Down the black rapids we go

Down to the top of Cotton Mountain

Alone with bitter ol’ Green Eyes

Stay tuned for more On the Tail of a Q. That’s what I’m calling these things. Isn’t it fun? I think so.

Maybe I’ll write more poetry right when I wake up, see how that goes for a while.

Love you.


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