06 Jan




passing by

there was

a vaudeville-sort of kiosk

stocked with memories

slanging, wobbled next to some granite

over-top the concrete

where the bodies are buried

your picnics are all full of ghosts

my memoirs are afraid of a drunken night, so we’re neither are blameless

but I was searching for something yellow and shining that was almost like light

and I remember at some point we stood together and former together

stoned or still or maybe a mixture of both slightly exaggerated

and something was remembered and stored

and is now being sold

in cheap paperback

like all profitable commemoration


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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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