Sunday, January 4, 2009


I sang in the kitchen
And I slept sideways 
In a single bed.

Nobody saw us steal 
The black sky.
Nobody saw us take
Hunger from the poor.

Now I read by moonlight
And my desk lamp
Smokes cigarettes with 
Literary greats.

And my ulcers
Are back.

I'm a little more than dead and
A little less than living,
So what am I?

For now,
I'm just

No comments:

Post a Comment