Apocalyptic poems, posted every m-f.

mikey’s gang

they went from city to city
in the early days, when the roads were still in

they’d scout it out,
start some shit and see what happened

in most cities,
the lines had already dropped dead
the streets were a tizzy
cops gone quiet

so then they’d feast,
an hour of supermarket shoot-outs
followed by a day of dairy and choice meats,
frozen pizzas cooked in stolen ovens hooked up to
stolen generators

they’d leave the moment someone more dangerous
showed up.

they sort of heralded the end,
for anybody who didn’t already know about it


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