We're on the green couch,
limp against the heat.
Miles was a heroin addict, right?
The sounds from the speakers
don't betray his pain.
A cop shot in Martinez.
They shot the shooter.
Domestic disturbance
at a nail salon.
He reports this to me,
bringing a dispatch
from an outside world.
Earlier, we walked the lake.
In ten years,
our companion said,
you'll still be counting.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment