Somewhere, the sun collapses beneath a prudent eye.
Silent silhouettes sit burnt up, broken, and misled, and wake to a cracked windscreen.
They smoke and marvel, that each breath is still their own.
The truck crawls forward, low on all fours, embracing the future,
and forgetting its own.
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Saturday, November 22, 2014
//Faith in the Anvil//
Words flounder in decay -how I wish they'd never flown.
The returning smile of a jackal explodes.
I quietly count my time, even though I know it isn't really there, until they name the hour, and I politely carry on.
These hours, marked by cigarette ash sometimes seem more needed than my mind -and in the best case, I make a discovery in a spare moment or a heavy trance, that's outstripped my time.
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Friday, November 7, 2014
//Start to a noir//This came out of the Recession-era a few years back when it felt like I was in total opposition to everything around me. Since then I've adapted: I shave strategically and less often.
One warm and rainy day in spring
I stood at the bathroom mirror, shaving.
The cat's meow is like an old screen door.
I feel like a dented can of soup,
because I never knew that my youth,
so far could reach.
Headlights, pass over the window,
and seem to incinerate the room.