Three poems by Rob Plath

UNTITLED

one dark night of the soul
instructs us more than
10,000 everydays

VICELESS

my ex-vices only fueled
this superabundance
of the blues

WALK ABOUT WHILE YOU STILL CAN, MOTHERFUCKERS

you pass it by

a cat crushed
on the shoulder
of the road
at 10 am

but you know
it isn’t just
a dead cat

it’s a sort of
flat, crystal ball

it’s king of
wizards

offering us only
one vision
which matters

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