a headache that Charles Bronson had
back in 1972.
because of the coal,
and the dress,
my heart is proudly purple.
later, I will share
an apartment in NYC
with Klugman, too.
an uncredited sailor
in life's long voyage,
divided by weak weeks.
after a string
of successful action,
we all die.
yet, there I am,
robbing power and vision
from the audio of doves.
this is an upgrade,
because yesterday
I just felt like the dumb thumb of Maury Lerner.