Days gone by with endless promise, stolen quiet
Oh now he’s overheated?
the week, any week, anytime
innocence declared a legend by the lunatic
Chained to the fence poor mutt Your life’s trail a patterned well-worn rut This morning’s sweet breeze beckon you cannot
Screaming hot like ice in free fall Black jade bubbling up within her guts Limp inertia pressing lips, nose, skin
Is the Servìce Comprìs? A tribute to a working wasteland Orange and carpets for the walking dead Poor Pete the