The Morning

It’s early in the morning
No car has left the parking lot
To go into work on a Monday
I sat at the table in my boxers
And my watch waiting for you
To awake so I can tell you
Just how much I love you.
I dread the hours we spend apart-
You’ve rented out all the rooms
In my head and I’m happy
That whatever door I open, you are there.
Now, I’ll stop writing and cuddle you
Closely until you have to rollover and get up.
This morning, my love, I choose you.      



‍Poinsettias for the dead

‍So tired and exhausted
Even the trees have decided to take a nap
Who has the energy to protest anymore?
Let the weeds take the yard
And let the religious worry about charity  

The horizon is black and bleak
Yet this house remains sunny
Virgins glowing, waiting to pass their flowers
Yet we must continue pressing forward
And release the thoughts from our minds
Like the earth releases her dead 

Hurry up, and come bundle closely with me
As we continue our walk
The people get older
The air still colder
Let’s just pause and let the weeds take us, too
 

‍
‍From scratch

‍Innumerable tombstones
Marking all the times we’ve died before
The dragonflies own the sky
But they allow me to visit
Riddled with hopeless infinity
And I cannot walk any further
The light is too bright
And the path too rocky
My guardian angel has left me
For someone more righteous
Let’s pitch a tent for a lifetime
And watch each other take turns
Burning this world
And we’ll use the embers as a bed
Fuck on them
And start anew
Make a perfect world    

Grant M. Armstrong lives around Kansas City, Kansas. His work has appeared in WINK, Blue Lake Review, Vext, Literary Yard, and various other publications. He is engaged and has a daughter (Bellamy).

Published 9th February, 2022.