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 Feb 2017 Jor For
phil roberts
Coughing like a cold start
Wheezing like a bag
Spitting through the back door
Have another ***
Doing the dying thing

Filling up an ash-tray
Feeding a fat face
Drinking cans of lager
Getting in a state
Doing the dying thing

Reading ****** papers
**** and bingo cards
Have another lager
Another pound of lard
Doing the dying thing

Sitting watching game shows
Rattling paper bags
Looking bored and farting
How the sofa sags
Doing the dying thing

Working for a *******
For very little pay
Yes boss and no boss
For eight hours a day
Doing the dying thing

Safely empty headed
Dull of thought and eye
Ignorant and vacant
There are many ways to die
Doing the dying thing

                                       By Phil Roberts
Fall and intoxication  

It was autumn the big trees along the lane had shed
their leaves filling the road as carpets of a summer past
I was going home from the bar in a pleasant mood
remembering songs no one sings anymore, but the old
that sternly refuses to sing anymore, think it is not
what an elderly dignified person should
in protest, I sang “underneath the stars” and since
I didn't know the word, made them up; I don't even
know if there is a song with this title.
The dogs, as we are told by scientists, are quite musical
they became the chorus and I banged two stones together
to make it rustic, but how long was Adam in Paradise,
a wind blew up made the dead leaves into dervishes dogs
took flight, imps are no good dance partners smell of burnt
embers. The squall stopped but the fun was over I thought
you pathetic old man goes to bed now, but it is a wonderful
world … sang Louis Armstrong
 Feb 2017 Jor For
Marie-Niege
i spend my days now counting til you, morning glory's cactii-ed to my tongue, goosebump ridden and hungry for some distant memory to bring me back down, if the early spring sun was to stop glowing, maybe that's be a start, but it beams innocence down my lungs and through the pours of my skin. Your eyes shine as though an angel lives between the thin realms of your mind and your soul and right there, inter-mixed between it all, I can't seem to help but hope to live, am I greedy enough now, because according to me, it's seems like this is all this is.
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