Tonight's Poet Corner: Markovsky White
Markovsky White
by Belinda Roddie
Markovsky White regularly poured a
night terror into his coffee, a
shaky substitute for cream stirred
straight from the can. He
sipped from the brim of his
anxiety attack and tilted his
two-cornered head back, bumping the
brick wall of his brick mausoleum, caught
weary and gray in the spare
window dusklight. Mister
White was an extravagant sick man - a
fool with more medicine than money - a
plaid-patterned epileptic episode on a
trademarked green sofa bed. He
dreamed about love number seven on the
mental queue, ate nothing but
barbecued temper tantrums, and wished for a
day in which he'd replace the one AM
chills with frosted toast to
nibble on when the sun
thawed out the blood clot in his
bottom left brain.
by Belinda Roddie
Markovsky White regularly poured a
night terror into his coffee, a
shaky substitute for cream stirred
straight from the can. He
sipped from the brim of his
anxiety attack and tilted his
two-cornered head back, bumping the
brick wall of his brick mausoleum, caught
weary and gray in the spare
window dusklight. Mister
White was an extravagant sick man - a
fool with more medicine than money - a
plaid-patterned epileptic episode on a
trademarked green sofa bed. He
dreamed about love number seven on the
mental queue, ate nothing but
barbecued temper tantrums, and wished for a
day in which he'd replace the one AM
chills with frosted toast to
nibble on when the sun
thawed out the blood clot in his
bottom left brain.
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