by Lamont Ashley Clark
Theres plastic flowers on the wall.
Theres a car with a headlight out
rolling slow with satan in it.
Theres deep blue or crimson velour
or its royal purple. Theres me
amid this great conflagration
bowling a straight 70.
Nearbys another Monty.
Hes the end times his eyes say.
Hes the darks prince or might be.
Kick off your slippery shoes.
The clouds look like nudes in this verklempt city.
Theres no one to hear my mongrel blues.
______
Lamont Ashley Clark has been a poet for quite some time but only recently decided to start sharing his work. He has no fixed address but prefers the more western parts of the country. If you're interested in publishing any of his work, purchasing a collection, or have any questions for him, email him at lafullmontyac@gmail.com.
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