A bunch of new Bigwigs are boarding Stage Four.
Packing pot luck.
Praying for more.
Dim Sum for your colon.
Some cigarettes too.
A clean linen gown and now what do we do?
What do we do in a room with no view?
We staplegun hope to our faces each day.
We read the endings first.
First Published by Sacred Chickens
Tastes like chicken but like everything else it’s not. The liver is Nagasaki. The lungs Hiroshima or Jesse James and Dear Old Death comes to us all but the quiver is fantastic. Like lips full of bees.
Sidemen crouch in stairwells. Waiting to make their move. Microphones hiss. Like snakes on the take. Parker crushes his smoke and Raises the Horn. This is a Gig Baby and the liquor is Top Shelf. Remem
The house smells of apples and hard cold water. Your dog whimpers in her dream chair. Rabbits pouring out of countless bushes. Easy pickings when you are still. Outside there are stars. Cold and brigh