Sad Sailor songs
and a roll my own
staining brown carcinoma
spit and strand
upon my lip.

Close my eyes
and hear bells,
i can feel them
pealing through
the quiet slippery air.

I can sense
without feeling
An urge without
momentum
{ripples in the breeze}
whispering trees,
this disease
(a spreading sadness)
a badness
sliding, slinking
ink and blight
into the bidding
night.

A smear upon each
dead
shining (dying) star.

Smoke curl, unfurl
and waiting, watching
for another
starry tear to
slide off
the burnt out
face of
the sky.