Friday, March 30, 2007


In my posthumous life
I gaze on yellow skies
I walk among the shaven apes
And hear their primal lies
The streets of my exile
Are stained with blood and paint
No shotglass spiked with turpentine
Can strip the inner taint
In my posthumous neighborhood
The houses look the same
The all-electric monuments
To those who play the game
In my posthumous living room
My soul finds brief retreat
From innocent and fruitless quests
And a heart's relentless beat.

Copyright 2007, by Jon Gregory. Written in 1992.

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