Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Poetry two

It's widdling outside
and the air burnt gasoline
cigarette smoke
I've overfull with chinese food and pink ice cream
the windows are fogged, and the roof leaks onto my jeans
the car squeals when the wheel is turned
a walking cop eyes us
but it's J, it's safe
Neon lights
I can feel my frozen fingers
the tree looks like a man
in a hoodie
ready to smash an axe
through the window to bury
in my chest
so my soul can rise
and be part of this austere
beauty forever

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