sunday afternoon

black coffee pounding
def beats through my veins
a jazz rift drifts like dead flies
against the newscaster’s sand
blasted voice scratching head
lines across my brain.

senior prison officers pimping
passes for pussy, didn’t see
that one coming, male guards
female prisoners human beings
in denial of their base instincts.

ann abramovich knows the score:
‘i wish u peace, love, and health.
blah, blah, blah, fuck that shit. i
wish u sex, alcohol, bare orgasms
and hope u win the fucking lottery,’
she says.

refill please…

my coffee’s cold like countess
tolstoy’s love for pugachev, ditch the
news and dream dreams instead
sorry love no cream keep it strong
bitter, and black like these sound
bites on a sunday afternoon.