still he saws at the legs of his Steinway old habits only die hard so he tickles the ivory cigarette hanging from his lips
you drag a soul around in a body and some nights it’s a bag of bricks wondering if there’s anything left to dream for
he left behind a loving wife three children many close friends and the best damn dog this side of… sadly
Charles with his typewriter and bottles a bluebird held hostage in his hea… all the women he wanted all the jobs he didn’t
the way mom and aunt kim would get… when the video would come on mtv i thought “that’s the life for me” singing for the working class
there was a mouse that dreamed of being a wolf every feral feline throughout the… would quiver at the mention of him his mere howl at the moon
in my timber heart her kisses became axes clearing a forest
a man must find his way to live in the world a poet must find his way to let the world live
this shirt screams “i’m not still fucked up from last…
going out for Golden Gloves when i was a teenager i trained as hard as anyone paid close attention to the scienc… my coach
apologies were often on the wind before her lips but when a girl’s got those big be… well
i watch her lips purse around the top end of a cock… sucking up the last drops of a Can… setting the glass arm’s length awa… she lets the bartender see we need…
my body is not a temple it is more like a corner bar in Wisconsin kneeling
love digs graves all around the world but i used to
Life is a series of tragedies with… But what is good for those who suf… than what is good for those who do… —for Brian Salvador Curley
