Two clenched jaws, but expectant eyes. And something lies deep inside. Fighting hard to keep the spark alive. A few drinks in the memory of a. Better time and a young heart. And these walls will never speak again. Because the feet that hung from the ceiling are limp. Steady now, the hands of paint,. Stands yet another beautiful crimp. First Throwback Thursday of The New Year.

At Last The Taj Mahal. Thank you for visiting my blog. My name is Frankin Abbott. I am a poet, psychotherapist and community organizer living in Atlanta. An informal report on the 2013 Decatur Book Festival.

I heard it said that those smiles are the best. But yours, dressed here now in glistening sweat. Beams like the sky of high noon. And I, aware of my own London grey. Am content to reply with Irish eyes, instead. I have a story in an old shoe box.

Paroxysms of an Awakened Dystopian. This is my final post. I will no longer post here on this blog. I started in January of 2014. What? I miss Florida, but not this much. You would take it wrong.

Lets talk poetry! June 4, 2016. If I had told you your fate earlier, You would be off and running. You will only move in circles, And back to where you are destined. So I will look; but my gaze is to see the oracle come to fulfillment.