a possible cure

there is nothing like
a good
solid
fight

no fists
not much hair pulling
the orbs and roots
ripped out and spraying blood all over the room and making the neighbors bitch while the seams start to rip, all by them selves.
-all by them selves-

simple
peace is at hand
it is near at end
of summer

at start of cold
beginning of tasty spring
and in the between time
when a novel should be written
but ignored

blues is the cure
people think repeated words are poetic
blues is the cure