“FEAST” by Chad Curtis Rose


Reclusive between fields and horses

drenched of rain

whiskey and grain

his rolling logic

is lost on slow visits

green death

Plow blades furrow the Earth

into miry, shallow graves

Fasting for days from interaction

The townspeople shun

the mysterious man on the knoll

imbalanced inside with his own chemistry

His seclusion becomes tavern fodder

Curious crimson red faces

hover above rock glasses

slurring through gin and rye eyes

Brooding patrons in a drunken plot

to visit him with lowered inhibitions

oblivious that a strangers knock

on his November door

and a word shared

Give that man a conversation

and he will dine like the kings…