Poetry

Eh Bee -Cy?

One slip of the thumb,

Two outrageous outcums:

Three strikes and you’re out,

Or,

For the wicked man’s plea,

Connive five lax ways to get off.


Read while eating an orange an old yellowed paper about the salad days when we were green with youth and feeling blue I packed a nice nug of purple and smoked it black.


Cowering when you couldn’t cut your own losses, eh?

So now you’re back at the bar trying to get a bump like honey to a bee.

Too bad they’re gone, they’re gone. What do you know about necromancy?

And what do I know?

1, 2, 3?

The imaginary color spectrum?

A, B, C? I’m dead.