"[My relationships were] like I was in these movies where the script was only half-written. When I’d get to the end of this half-script, the other actors wanted me to ad lib. But I had never gotten the hang of that. That’s why these movies were always box-office failures. Six of them in the past twenty years. I always blew the lines." ~ from my horrible first novel "Learn How To Pretend." (unpublished)(obviously)

Monday, March 25, 2013



(You’re so paranoid you
prob’ly think this poem’s about you)

She puts on bitterness

like she takes off makeup.

Not in one big splash

but a swipe at a time.

And not with a ball of cotton

but using a pad of Brillo,

Each stroke pulls her face

into ugly contortions.

Each adding to her pain.

The blue soap blinding her eyes

and streaking her countenance

until the lurid expression she bears

is from the shredding of the steel,

and even bitterness recoils in fright.

We weep to behold her.

“Oh, Marah, let it go!”
©2007 Rick Robb

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