: Dirty Jon: ( Poem by Jon Thomas

The heroes symptoms seem to clash with the national flag thus full and flowing. A clear plastic bag stuck to a pole at half mass in an abandoned strip mall parking lot. Dirty hobo travel kids prowl through dumpsters out back looking for our meds that we burn on spoons. Gnarled belly's speak to each other ignored by their masters. Call the dealership and tell them I'll have all the fixings. Table for one! I shook winter's crystals to melt as summer was pressed to the land with a kiss. Red registers within swollen pupils an sweated brow. Both hot and flush. And flush! Paramedic waiter's beat down stall doors to pump holocaustal body's full of naloxone. To (TRANS) port thin place them in pandemic beds where as soon as we're able to walk again we pass the check over on the way out of America's medical hotel's. The disease every bit as deadly as the virus. One a heart wrenching monster to the citizenship the other pulled from ally's and dilapidated buildings were taggers graffiti is the only thing to see you O.D. x! x