A Rib and August

 August is filled

with dead

words from 

a narcissist.

A curled tongue

of “I am” brags

accomplishment

without knowing

how to spell it.

How did

breathing

failure 

ever rise

above

his bloat?

I suppose the worst

in him gave freedom

to spill the worst in others.

If it wasn’t so dangerous,

I could find humor in

holders of tissue paper books

and pulpit men not understanding

they’ve surrendered leading to following.

I 

enjoy

being 

a

thorn

when

so 

many 

think

I’m

only

a 

rib. 

 

Susie Clevenger 2025