Friday, March 22, 2024

Two Poems by Daniel S. Irwin

Bug Juice

He'll sleep thru his whole incarceration.
Twelve years in prison loaded up on drugs.
On his release date, he'll be taken off drugs.
He'll find a different world, a changed world.
He'll look and see a stranger in the mirror.
Free, at last, from the iron bars and stone walls,
The escort picks him up and drives him to the
Mental Health facility, where he'll be held,
Doped up again, this time as 'treatment'.

 

 

Death Called Me

Death called me.
Fortunately, I have
Caller ID.
I put him on 'hold'.



Bio: Daniel S. Irwin was not raised by wolves, just the notorious naked apes (not Tarzan)in the hills of Southern Illinois. Artist, actor, writer, Dudeist priest. Work published in over 100 magazines and journals world-wide. Seventeen books of questionable value.  Once worked in a prison for the criminally insane, now retired misses his friends.Latest work can be found in Horror Sleaze Trash, The Rye Whiskey Review, Beatnik Cowboy, Cajun Mutt, and on some fine shithouse walls.

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