TSM 132

 writing my friend's
 eulogy dead man dead man
 his body double shot 
 of bourbon casket strength
 in AZ asks 
  
 are the leaves here
 where I am 
 all high
 in the treetops 
 in skin tight red 
  
 and yellow camo 
 like floozies like 
 his groupies like light 
 line dancing 
 as they fall baby 
  
 baby baby 
 hit me one more time
 death in the air Halloween 
 in the bag man
 he said
  
 it was hard to die
 the music hard 
 rock pulverized to grit 
 like chips
 off the old block his skin
  
 lost to grindstone 
 the sky's wheel 
 towards granite and gypsum 
 the hard times ahead 
 hard in the ground 


The Sunday Muse

Miz Quickly

18 thoughts on “TSM 132

  1. I need a shot of whiskey after reading this. So much to love ” yellow camo like floozies” Your ending, the grinding finale leaves me with wow! Great writing/!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. “Wheel in the sky keeps on turnin’/ I don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow”. None of us do, but one could not ask for a better remembrance than this poem. The quivering meat wheel in the sky turns for thee, they say, and I am lucky to have survived my boozy 20’s–luckily I had an older wiser man-type person looking out for me in those days or I probably wouldn’t have. Every day I am slightly stunned to have arrived on these calm sober shores where I can sing myself and celebrate myself and enjoy poetry like yours.

    Liked by 1 person

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