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Literature
Second-hand Smoke
Then they'd haul the cage back in, with its catch of miners
dredged from the mountain's cavity. Even their eyeballs were black,
see - they'd look like buried men dug back from coal hells
to return in silence to villages of wives and children.
Smoking kills say the scattered packets of Lambert.
But, we live squeezed between hollowed monoliths, lurking
along roads clogged by town after town. If this
air that tastes of roof tiles doesn't kill us;
if this damp, that keeps us damp until
the rain returns, doesn't kill us;
if the pressure of each person's personal slag heap
weighted with history doesn't crush us
then we'll risk a cigaret
Literature
Haikuthon July 2009
31
gnarled tree roots
stretch down into the pond
resting for a spell
30
a thousand flags
whip in the wind
praying for profits
29
lingering
in the cool building shadow
lilac perfume
28
in the distance
beyond the looming storm —
hint of orange dusk
27
a golden half-moon
hangs near distant streetlights
rear-view mirror
26
&#
Literature
songs about slumber
I.
our city is a bed
.
a man tries to straighten the wrinkled
sheet of road – gives up, sits down,
pans the street for change
.
the apartment building thrusts, phallic,
making love to an empty sky. a burst
of pigeons coo shut up shut up
.
a boy tries to fall asleep. his nightlight
is a myth that burns out once a day
.
the girl walks off her roof
.
.
our city is not a mattress
.
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