(no subject)
Hey man,
A circle of light glistens off the the bottom of
the cup onto the opposite, empty side of the booth,
from the morning sun.
This is the absence,
This is the Afterenviroment of a convalescent anti-social.
I hear a broken voice, picking up the pieces
There's no rest for this asthmatic superculture,
this expressionless medium.
Cough up a gun
Cough up the illness
cough up the oxygen
I C the stillness, the morning Sun.