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What it feels

fuzzy food in fridge
flushed today
smell lingers
can it be washed away?

desperate house plants
bought with good intentions
gave up ghosts through kitchen window
carcasses remain

breakfasts of cold toast and peanut butter

outside, a sanctuary of thistles

inside, the dark imbues the body bones
absorbed in daily doses
just enough to quell
thoughts that foment rebellion

these I gave to you, I think.
my remembered lover
my old optimist
my partner of journey
my willing prisoner

spurn me now
for I have killed you
the worst of all crimes
a spirit stilled

melancholic

Lee Dunn View All

Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.

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