I—just—can’t
anymore.
I’m falling apart.
The world is falling apart.
I just want to fall
into your arms
and sleep.
But this is not some stupid, self-induced hangover.
This is a house fire in a hurricane in a pandemic.
With zombies. Fast zombies.
Why is double-tap funny in a zombie movie
but you have a lot of violent thoughts
in therapy when
we’re living in a zombie movie?
My only anger management problem:
choosing the right targets,
choosing the right weapons.
My pen moved the world
more than a little
20 years ago.
Time to sharpen
my pen.
This Machine Kills Fascists
About Me
Mark Folse is a provincial diarist and aspiring minor poet from New Orleans. His past blogging adventures included the Katina/Federal Flood blog wetbankguide on blogspot.com which David Simon told NY Magazine was one of three blogs that helped inform Treme, and Toulouse Street–Odd Bits of Life in New Orleans, which once outranked the Doobie Brothers on Google Search. His work has appeared in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, The New Delta Review, Metazen, New Laurel Review, Ellipsis, What We Know: New Orleans as Home, Please Forward, The Maple Leaf Rag IV, and A Howling in the Wires (which he co-edited).
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Well Bottom Blues 
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