The Crackonix Poem by Lawrie Stuart Ronton

Lawrie Stuart Ronton

Lawrie Stuart Ronton

An Industrial City in a shoddily assembled one-floored house.

The Crackonix



Stoner brows,
Not like a cows. He calls
like the midnight owl,
he caws to the sky,
to let his backpack fly by.

Not a jungle in sight,
Nor a baby that cries.

He said it wasn't fun.
Old coke and rum,
the flat waste hitting you,
Side of the head.
Flat out.

Crackhead, sleeping on the floor.
Crackhead, sleeping more and more.

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Lawrie Stuart Ronton

Lawrie Stuart Ronton

An Industrial City in a shoddily assembled one-floored house.
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