Three Poems from Dan Provost

Mental Health Year Shelved for the foreseeable future… Ideas are strange—something hits me off course… –I bleed.   Think.  Fret irregular and witness  frowned eyebrows when I dare  say anything… Dream big Die bigger… Of course, I want to know if this will be my destiny… Saddle stamped worn down… Chimes w/ a beggars call… Invisible…

Three Poems from Dan Provost

Never Improved   You can play the part girl with the Letters to Cleo pigtails.   Position your ruby lips in that Post-modern 1990’s canonized pout.   I just could never play the healer.   The veteran scamps still scatter the night   Adjusting hairpins and brassieres. Hoping to arouse bottle rockets.   Battle scars…