burning
houses my
old man
sd licking
a drop
of whiskey
off the
back of
his hand
you can’t
beat them
for drama
the way
flaming
timbers fall
across a
sofa or a
kitchen
sink clouds
of sparks
shooting
out the door
some nights
i sleep in
fire i always
walk in
smoke
Filed under: poems by todd moore
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burning
houses my
old man
sd licking
a drop
of whiskey
off the
back of
his hand
you can’t
beat them
for drama
the way
flaming
timbers fall
across a
sofa or a
kitchen
sink clouds
of sparks
shooting
out the door
some nights
i sleep in
fire i always
walk in
smoke
Filed under: Todd Moore
Comments Off
Illustration by Jean-Claude Claeys modified by Mr. K.
cindy was
sitting near
the win
dow of the
car w/
her hair
blowing out
when
kenny
shot her
& blood &
pieces of
scalp flew
out the
window
then a
wind full
of death
rushed
into her
hair
Filed under: poems by todd moore
Comments Off
Illustration by Jean-Claude Claeys modified by Mr. K.
cindy was
sitting near
the win
dow of the
car w/
her hair
blowing out
when
kenny
shot her
& blood &
pieces of
scalp flew
out the
window
then a
wind full
of death
rushed
into her
hair
Filed under: Todd Moore
Comments Off