Not Quite Murder, Circa 1988 Poem by Bryan Corbett
Not Quite Murder, Circa 1988
an eight ball
sits on the bed
of a rundown motel room
my friend did
one too many lines
and stopped breathing
his body, blue
propped in the closet
he waits for me to call 911
and i will
in the morning
when the blow is gone
and when i, too, am gone
- circa 1988
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: dark,drugs
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8/5/2025 4:24:45 PM # 1.0.0
