Drama by John Grey


agony of nausea

is almost a solid thing

to one side of him


as if times were made of pie crust

being towed away

while blanket that covered it

is cold as the ashes

that don’t float off,  don’t move


life hung straight up in the air

too tired now to lock its own doors

rats sang in dark corners

to the riff she played


smoke didn’t dissolve,

someone larger staggered dazed

she stood all night

stiff and yellowish

straight up and down

such depths everywhere

like corn fields


air that seeped

in the sorrows of the world

jittered the wet air


there is no waking

not anywhere.

through the rusted screens

time passed –

to swell toward the sun-sparkled



she heard bodies

veil of smoke

voices in other rooms beginning

where patterns leave off


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