tomorrow ticks
bedbugged insomnia
spiders in the conscience
while the parking lot glows
what condition what disease
this that the other
to each his own fleas
to bathtubs and irons
steam engined alertness
production of will
necktied and stockinged
in matching blues
fire to cigarette
flame to coffee
recondition the air
“Tell me what happened to the sky?”
“I would prefer not to.”
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