Cinder block brella
shoes under the bed
tomorrow's dark tanned
sisters wait on you.

Bread, stone oven baked.
Torches burn quiet.
Hands holding handles.
Slumber follows you.

Jazz singers sultry
notes push back the dark,
but torches do burn
and brothers drowse on you.

Brellas block cinders.
Shoes now oven baked.
Tomorrow stopped tanning.
I just want to sleep.