Nix
the sky rolls by
acres & acres
of blue
wind swept
sheets
dappled by
skeletal wisp
teased cotton
clouds
clumsy footed
down here I
collect the teeth
lost on
my last bet
never was a good gambler
golden days behind me
the cold whistles
through dark pines
brooding on my ass
gumming
old wounds
in my nest of
orchids
racing forms
& glass