The walking asylum

Man him he swang in the sixties, big sixties them,
learned a library and stole away with it
shuddering in the single room all men inherit
if they spring wide-eyed at phantoms. Judge him,
slack and fallable, he said what a studious
student purchasing his palaver with common
insanity. Black beauties. The poor man me, I talked
back to the slanderer and said never lie about me.
I’m here for the medicine, you for the reverie.

Advertisements

~ by Jeremy on June 8, 2012.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: