by L.M. Browning, except from Drive Through the Night


Ride this life hard

      —barebacked, bone-shaken.

Wrap your legs tight

      —thighs around her rib cage, pounding.

Take hold in the rush

       —fingers tangled in her mane, entwined.


Don’t look back,

there is nothing for you there.


Recent Poetry Posts

Benzos, Bardo, and Brokenness | A Poem

Benzos, Bardo, and Brokenness | A Poem

They say poetry must tell us something of life and the wider-world, else it is confessional blather beyond use, but what if I want it to be only for me—in all its obscurity?

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