1.12.2013

Coronary Lassitude

Keep your nose clean, Corporal.
No one here is prone to jump
claiming "I am Spartacus,"
as we're circled in this valley.

A romantic hates to say it
but the realist knows it's true:
We're all born and die alone
with some solitude between.

No one cares for your Green Gables.
We're all capable of painting.
The purest here among us
hid little with the brush.

There's a hawk perched
near the off-ramp.
Addictions all catch up.
"Pry your hands off the merchandise,"
a decent sport would say.

No comments: