early morning sunday blues
the cat cries hungry at 4 a.m.
the superintendent with his forever cigarette
outside my bedroom window
blowing yellow smoke
i dream that he is an old man
dressed in maroon
playing a harmonica
trying to break in
oil colored sky
oil slathered birds in mississippi
millions burning coal-black in the gulf
dried blood in my sink
insomnia week turning toward the next
i think to call the dentist once more
before they let us go from the job
100 of us?
300 of us?
whatever brand of mercy
they are selling this coming fiscal year
inside broken eggshell america
the greatest country
residing in a world that’s too poor to brag
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2 comments:
how can something be so trippy and entrenched in such bitter truths? Hard to do...
thanks anthony...times are just fucking hard right now.
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