Walking off now…
One too many punches.
Black and blue used to be
My favorite colors, the sky
In dusk over the sound
Billowing up in lovely
Shades of smoky smudges,
Smearing themselves on a grey
I won’t look back, even when
The click turns, the “bitch”
Bellows and the shot rings,
Fuck him and his drunken dreams.
Dirt spits up along side
My black bag, as I walk stead-
Fastly East towards the – “pow!”-,
Sun setting with a blue sky.
My eyes fastened on the purple
Clouds low on the dusky horizon.
My long arms hang in waiting,
But the shots wither and I smile.
He has lost at last and I will die,
But a death of nothingness, of shit.
And born will be a breeze from the North,
Cool and fresh, and bearing.. hope.