Mar 28 • General discussion
Just Like The Dr.
Just like the Dr.
He wrote me a letter after my Dad's funeral,
Ink black as I like it.
The pineapple is rotting in the field,
Somewhere in the South.
Cosmic trances of grief surround the tombstone,
Seagulls Caw at happy Red balloons,
Floating up and to the left.
There's an ache in my left tit,
My grandma stopping to water her pink Roses.
30 years ago I had no inkling that my next waking hour might be heavier than concrete.
Grateful time centered business Men only allow women with just enough skirt.
They get in to their stee...
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Just Like The Dr.
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