Another dirty suit —
it doesn’t help him
smell his best.
But then
he never did notice
since infection killed his sense.
Torn holes —
someone trying to hang
from the double breast.
Could’ve sealed up
but instead
He spent his thread
to sew his lip
shut
from a bite
his lover left
when he kissed goodbye.
One shiny button
buffed with grease
by an accidental palm.
He shakes off the dust
as if it’s the only problem
he can at least
fix on his feet.
But it’s really just shivers,
Nothing cleaner.
Stains in every shade
lend polka dot to pinstripe.
A palsied hand spills a drink
on a lap
covered in ash
then calms
as it assists the swallow.
He lights
a fresh cigarette
to burn the evening.
Playing his suit
The seams seem depressed
and waiting to fail.
J. Rohr has a taste for history and midnight barbeques. He believes that every cynic is the by-product of failed romanticism, he himself being one. Having recently finished a novella entitled Home Sweet Homicide: a tale of reasonable madness, he is operating the blog www.honestyisnotcontagious.com to deal with some of