Poems from Quincy Quipsmith

Notes are hanging in the air And the Holy Spirit fills like sauna. When the collective hums My pipes thrum in sympathy. It hits like...
God, I see it's not Your style That truths be reconciled. You gave us a law to put justice in place, But we null it all when you tell us "...
The grass will die and flowers will fall, Every good day will end, and all my friends return to dust And even every star will die, But I...
Why she's attracted, I'll never understand. We're like the 12 o'clock and the 1 o'clock hand: Farthest in time, but our hands touch closest...
This country has strange rugs. The streets are lined with their red paint, courtesy of blue bloods.   No matter. Apparently, blacks make up...

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