Peter Yowie Poetry
lady gaga and I had a big fight, she came back to the mansion and all her clothes were gone to the charity shop. I know how to hurt the lady, and that’s the thing about love.
The world asks how can you be in love with someone you’ve never met, but I met her in my dreams.
you can’t rob the heart of a tattooed girl with a big, brown dog.
I endure a dark night of the soul, I encounter dark souls of the night. On the dance floor it’s the extinction of the dinosaurs. In the morning the rain falls and cheap conversation holds me in a lobster claw.
it’s the year of the dragon and last night I was breathing fire as I smoked a joint. In the kitchen was Andy warhol’s soup can art and in the bedroom skeletons in the closet. I closed my eyes before midnight, opened them as they lit the fireworks and watched angels on fire. This is the champagne pantomime. I’m being a poet because there is no other way to show it. Hot summer’s nights on the sweet, sticky streets that twist like licorice. The whisky drinkers in the sunset of another year, until my words fly south for the winter.
