Mike Hill

5/10/2005

Fields strewn with machines rusting,
Poets lurking beside poisoned waters
Sucking empty wine bottles like dried teats,
Carving icons into dead grey flesh.
Sunrise means nothing to us,
Sunset underscores the drag of life.
Blood hosed from sidewalk to sewer;
I will die, too, soon.
Brain cloud glowers, reticent, lingering,
Making flowers black beneath my eye.
Guns and bombs fuck joy.
Love cowers in darkness.
My muse is an accomplice to mass murder.
I feel dirty but where can I wash?

M.Hill

Just Lines on Paper #1

                                                                 COPYRIGHT 2011 by D. Blake Wertz


This is Blake's first mini-comic. Contact him at:

D. Blake Werts
12339 Chesley Drive
Charlotte, NC 28277or
bwerts@vnet.net

NOT MY SMALL DIARY #16

  "All aboard Not My Small Diary #16! This issue is full to the brim with true stories about Transportation from a collection of your favorite artists. You'll experience everything from skateboarding to car wrecks to subway stories and more. Buckle up and enjot the ride! When you're done check out the artists' websites as well as mine: www.mysmallwebpage.com. -Delaine the Diary Master"