Mental midgets
reach for the top of the high horse

as the self assured
self righteous
self proclaimed

black sheep huddle around steel barrels
feeding the heat with self indulgence


The ventriloquist feasts on the bones of the innocent
and goes home to the rat-hole
across the street
from the used bookstore


on the verge of chapter 11

A thumbtack to the heart,
a momentary migraine,
suffocation in a hiccup.

Every few hours
my body sends a  meager glimpse
of what's in store.


But smoke
is a fine pesticide.



And the weather is nice



just ask the mosquitoes.