no gold in the air
stahl’s world of
perpetual darkness.
no fields of dreams
in my backyard today.
I’m a gunshot wound
to the head, a blues song
bleeding from broken
finger tips. I’m a
bukowski man instead
of some others.
…some of the others
with cheerier news.
and
no funny jokes like:
after math is English.
aftermath is only sorrow.
editors note:
Sorrow is how some sums add up. Gotta do your own math… – mh clay
Comments 1
A mad, mad poem — like, how one must feel later following a bad algebra exam. .