February 5, 2012
Custom User Avatar
More by this author
You sit there smoking your Cuban cigar,
Diseased alveoli pumping death
In and out, your rhythmic breath,

Incessant pounding and gnarled scars
Polluting your body. Late

Afternoon sun glinting.
And you hear each great



A glance

As if, through your crossed legs
And sadistic smile there were a

But no, you keep your

Newsprint hands, inky heart.
It’s a pity; it’s a shame,

You poor, poor man.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback