Muscle Poems

The Landlord’s

• Once upon a time there was…
• Every day…
• But one day…
• Because of that…
• And Because of that…
• Until finally…
• Ever since then…

Before talking on paper. Life’s going-ons here. But by order of the profit, she walks in. one of their true and own. Like there’s dignity in just walking, pushing a cart. A page for angst. But with all the deep-crap questions. And all the needs never met. Conquistadors looking at their heroes. I’m tired of learning them from gangster movies. Not about doing anything until the whole thing changes. To try to be. Like finding artistic solutions to our situation. Can’t write about this place after all. Like the salt in my food going to waste. My pre-education in the law ad the illegal slipping by with not the necessary halting of it. Like she’s got something to hide, but can’t stop her mouth. As soon as I see money, I have to leave…