in the olden days
we told stories about life.
now smoke and mirrors.
jazz matazz
they’re banging the drums.
they’re screeching in my ears.
damn, i love this jazz.
sandy sleep
heavy is sleep’s weight
like a sisyphean rock.
trapped by coarse sandmen.
common cents
money’s quite funny.
for men whose days are sunny.
i still can’t find sense.
ipecac living
the day passes by
like a drunkard unaware.
trails of vomit.
little thunder
a swarm black flies
thick as dark gray thunder clouds.
loud as hell’s thunder.