Tom’s seasoned sky.
Hazily saturated with pain;
Cauterized hydrocarbon compounds.
Pop’s body. POP.
10 bucks, pack cigarettes,
and his old man. faded…
Tom’s two-ton truck.
Soiled alveoli clocking overtime.
Escapades imprisoned; Slight chronic alleviation.
A sister, who OD’d,
befalled for 4.5 billion bones.
The blunt… price of people.
Her elm tree; Dispensing dead reminders.
Germinating leaves greening out her asylum
disunited by ever-so ether…
Tom’s eternally tumbled senses,
percolate pain so powerful into
his thugged-out farce.
Some creator’s sick burlesque takes.
A jinxed-out hand, nothing
but you,
by his side.
