Your blue brassiere smells of roses. I stop dressing up for the dinner. My hands untie my checkered tie. The next door neighbor’s bell is the only noise.
You watch me from the corner of your soul. No. No. No. You scream. Continua a leggere
Pull The Chain
The morning train mails away.
The shit beside the railroad still fresh.
The girl on the facing seat sleeps
in between her legs.
A labor knotted hand lights
the day’s first cigarette guarding it
from the wind framed by the ajar door. Continua a leggere
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