by John Rocco
The dead like it here.
You can tell by the way
the hot skinny stray dogs
drink from the spigot.
In the middle of it all:
Man & Woman
pulling drawn inescapable
into the mouth of death
called Monument aux Morts.
Me and Jim
potless weedless
smokeless in a hot
foreign Paris lost
looking for
Lizard King grave.
Don’t find it
but walk into
band of sitting kids
smoking drinking
just back from
Amsterdam.
They invite us to
join them.
One day I’ll write
a novel called FUR
to thank those
dead kid angels.
Life & Death
were never so
stoned together.
Opium Poetry Blogzine 