Dean Martin wasn't wrong though

And as I crept inside my house at midnight,

dirt poor, but tits wealthy,

moonlight spotlighted my comic books

and sprung shadows from family photos. 

 

Irish whiskey motormouth

trapped inside Balmain and tempers. 

When can you learn that stilettos aren’t made to fight giants?

When did your words become too thickset for fragile sentences?

 

2 am soliloquies in the kitchen,

cold cut audiences, and beer bottle microphones.

Collapsing into tears when I realized, in horror,

I had ceased to be the main character in my life.

 



Dom Darby, when not busy yelling at the false idea of fluffy water, is a New York City-based poet/writer/comedy-adjacent neighborhood bard. They are usually found writing in dark alleys, libraries, dimly lit cafes and the occasional punk rock concert. Androgyne. A firm proud believer in the written word, and a realistically reluctant one in the human race. Pronouns: They/them/a long awkward shrug. If you want to find a love song in a chopped cheese, a raspberry orange that reminds you of childhood lullabies, or if you just want decent Taiwanese bubble tea, give them a jingle-jangle.