poet

David Budbill

by this poet

poem
Tomorrow 
we are
bones and ash, 
the roots of weeds
poking through
our skulls. 

Today,
simple clothes,
empty mind, 
full stomach,
alive, aware,
right here,
right now.

Drunk on music,
who needs wine?

Come on, 
Sweetheart,
let's go dancing
while we still 
have feet.