I can only think of heros poem by Wayne Jackson

everybody writes such neat stuff
about addicts in checkered alleys
who touched the moon.
and a whore in hight heels
limping badly
one heel broken
and sticks and straws and snot
and purple poison sniffed in sacks
of rooms without furniture
and bugs
and sex
but though I try
I can only think of heros


Posted in art music poetry