Sunday, October 13, 2019

My friend in the fetid hammock
dim light on his crooked head
cloaked guitar leaning by a cigarette pallet
back tables on a slab ticking toward the forest
twitching meter snow tapped
and fur of needles
the wings on his shoulders stooped
his luminous blanket
a drum skin salad
the reaper's rag sweeping
instruments clean
around his brick feet.

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