Lletres:
Blueline Medic

Seventy-two now and as mad as they come, but even so, now on occasion there's a few come and help Put a crucifix, a portico just like there is at the

You say I have to get a real life But I'm not sure how that in making someone or other rich Is any more real than making a niche for yourself I'm without

As in the final hours. The priest came walking in. With beans about his hand and wine about his breath. He took the frail wrist and pulled the stool

So I ran faster But it caught me here Yes my loyalties turned Like my ankle In the seventh grade Running after BILLY Running after the rain These precious

I'll spend this day in a reverie I won't focus on anything I don't have to I don't feel the need Look at the others with contempt or is it envy? I'll

Six thirty comes, like a call to arms. Five alarms have sounded. The covers are confused. Heaped, the sheets are all at one end. Wake up sleepyhead.

Those little characters. On that little screen. Those little atom bombs she loves to leave. At the accident. Hey, who's playing stretcher-bearer? I saw

No call this morning No sleep at all Not getting any answers searching through telephones Oh absence, take form Half cold in a king size dawn Breaking

They cross me. These streaks of agate. They're red and warning. But I'm already out of bed. They cross me. These streets, like a death. Bright and sunny