2 poems from Kelly Moyer

Destiny of a Dreamer

The chirologist finds ancestral traumas
within the lines of my left palm,
square in contrast to the rounded shape
of my right, which reveals many lost loves
and a capacity for dumbass decisions.
She names me the writer of fairytales,
commending me for bringing beauty
into a cruel and misguided world 
that, she assures me with a kind smile,
will see to my abrupt and untimely end. 


I really don’t think I’m too trusting,
but I’m pretty sure a monk
screwed me out of twenty bucks
just this afternoon. 

I was strolling down Decatur St.
after skating in Crescent Park. 

He thrust a shiny strand of beads 
into my dusty hands 
and assured me he would pray 
that I might know peace. 

He then held out his upturned palm.

I retrieved a tattered bill 
from the bottom of my bag
and offered it to him with a bow.

“More,” he said in lieu of a blessing. 

I apologized, sincerely, for my lack 
and began to question
the very nature of my being.

It was only later that I realized
I simply should have fucked him up.

Bio:  Kelly Moyer can often be found wandering the mountains of North Carolina, where she resides with her husband and two philosopher kittens, Simone and Jean-Paul.

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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