grrrr…. the hole punchers chatter and dilute the truth and dribble it into glasses of alcohol free absinth while the Grand Master Klingon beseeches sad Hercules to give him one more chance, “Give me – please” he sobs and H. turns the other cheek, ” Wack away oh Grand Master Klingon” he sneers, lovingly. Meanwhile outside their tiny window poplar trees delegate insanely in the cursing, evergreen wind and the sun hides, yet again.
Published by Tony Chapman
poet, songwriter, performer, visual artist. View all posts by Tony Chapman