Good blue bulging from the wrists

decadently serving china red,

meth formed sugar cubes piece a vase

to water the sad brain.

Good blue voices choral a record stack

sipping coffee cried in the back throat

of the jilted and the spilt

water of a sad stake.

Good blue to the lover's back

hurricaned in soles clipped

and frustrating on those lips; frozen

bold sad statues.

Good blue iris shredding organs

that spear when they grasp

and the love that diagnoses

a sad that will not pass.