Tag Archives: B. Diehl

Eleven Poems

I wrote eleven poems today, all about the way you once perceived me – about the illusion of truth in our so-called “love.” And how the world looked standing next to us with its long, hairy legs: hideous! Preposterous! See, … Continue reading

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Orange Contact Lenses

1. The bedspread is orange. The attic door is orange. And the carpet is orange, along with my most faded pair of sneakers. But my living room is blue, and an eyesore…at best. Well, if there’s one thing about my … Continue reading

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Monday’s Mail

“The Monday blues” is what the common man’s reality suggests. But Neurosis disagrees – says I’m grieving over my dead and buried wings. Weekend: gone. Freedom: gone. I hide in a hedgerow and hold my breath, waiting for the mailman … Continue reading

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Premonition in the Parking Lot of a Waffle House

At any moment now, your car will pull up: the very Honda (championship-white) you were driving at the time I met you. And Morrisey’s “Suedehead” will be playing through its speakers: the song you’ve had on repeat for the past … Continue reading

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