I woke up to screams from a stolen razor. Where is it? It was a loud scream. The end comes swiftly, anyway,
and, if there are no razors around, it comes even faster.
At the top of the mountain, the anger flows to the valley, and there is no scream.
In the valley, we wait.
There is a pull from a cigarette.
Small talk that is not small talk.
A man wheezes
A woman wonders where she'll go tomorrow
it comes out as a laugh
and lightly in the background plays a song that can only be called the disease of the 80's.
We didn't need another.
But, thank you.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 5:01 PM UTC
I woke up to screams from a stolen razor. Where is it? It was a loud scream. The end comes swiftly, anyway,
and, if there are no razors around, it comes even faster.
At the top of the mountain, the anger flows to the valley, and there is no scream.
In the valley, we wait.
There is a pull from a cigarette.
Small talk that is not small talk.
A man wheezes
A woman wonders where she'll go tomorrow
it comes out as a laugh
and lightly in the background plays a song that can only be called the disease of the 80's.
We didn't need another.
But, thank you.
Strong bukowski influence, living in med stabilization unit in ghetto. Heard you spin me right round or whatever and it made this a poem about disease.
