I hear Bells when I take my medicine.
Mr. Tom Bell was a great poetry friend.
UFO’s we always seen.
In our poems people just thought we were crazy.
Insomnia we have always had.
Nuclear waste was in our trash.
He used to tell me about Rosie in the kitchen back in the day.
Then each gig of Hammond and Dire Straits.
We always wanted a convention so every one can meet and play.
Drifting pain like lunar caters.
A vacuum salesman with spandex boxer shorts.
Tom beat the tid-bits then put Listerine soaked tissues under shots.
I miss you Tom Bell