The territory of the moon. The territory of stars. The territory of fishing. The territory of get up off your crazy knees. The territory of ball bearings. The territory of drunk mechanics. The territory of watching pigeons under the attic. The territory of brand new cars. The territory of whisky. The territory of beer in the front seat. The territory of driving fast with no seat belts. The territory of boats. The territory of wilderness. The territory of gasoline. The territory of 1926 Lewiston Idaho. The territory of winos. The territory of the stink of newsprint. The territory of books. The territory of broken brothers. The territory of tiny apartments with gas burners. The territory of Playboys in the bathroom. The territory of poison. The territory of guns. The territory of Sunday afternoons. The territory of dead daughters. The territory of shame. The territory of the thumb sucker. The territory of dogs. The territory of cigarettes. The territory of cats. The territory of bleeding elbows. The territory of Glass Street. The territory of people who can't feel pain. The territory of a prostitute with a gold tooth. The territory of a fat blonde in a torn dress screaming in German. The territory of tears. The territory of death by sausages cigars racing forms alcohol and bombed out hearts. I'm older than you now. How did it happen? Where are you? I am left in the territories alone.
my brain has been getting ready to dump ashes on my head, buckets of poems i'm afraid. this, this will do me, has done me, quite well, in.
Did we have the same father?
Probably not. But neither were truly fit for civilization, I think.
Wow
Devastating and brilliant. Your poem builds an entire world, a sad one, but of survivors.