(not titled)

There was a cafe that hosted a night for spoken word where I would regularly . Like all good things it came to an end. The new owner turned it into another pedestrian bar where I wrote this.

strange clouds

 rain clouds

merchant lighting and smoldering memories

 my old bar is dead

  refunded for a hollow adumbration

a shallow amendment to ames

nevertheless

 i came to try and write

but it's too boxy

no admiring flock to break my strongest writers block

strange clouds

 rain clouds

and now they serve mothers milk

 how ironic