to a nicotine ceiling sadly
coughing up our acrid interior
hazy through their shroud of putrid.
--
a thrift store van gogh muses
from his living room perch on high,
they lie catty corner to one another
in fading upholstered coffins
numb to vincent's goodwill sunflowers.
--
sick, smokes, and delirium
and never ending bargain basement booze
flow by the hand-me-down television
tuned to unwatched watergate hearings
whose treachery can't be bothered
in this netherworld of ours.
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