You on the outside looking inward
at the outward glance of Mike, your youngest.
Bovine hands on bovine meal cutting the table
practically in half if the strength would return to him.
He's only 40, but looks 53
ZZZZZ's hurling out, nodding comatose, veins percolating tangled mess in December.
Chardonnay outlet, and there is as much as you can handle.
We are flowing in generous and dire fashion this evening a florescent turnpike of the county.
Lucky the generators kept the convalescent hospital convulsing and very much awake.
He's nearly dead and for a moment, after leaving your apartment, I could've swore I saw his ghost wandering the B-Side hallway, no shoes on his feet.