Monday, August 22, 2011


lying down in the sun
beneath rubble
half-bricks, tarmac biscuits
purple butterflies at the armpits
deliquescent macaroni in the prostate
lungs amazed by the film forming
sand under the piles, creeks;
everything swallowed and turned outward.

Strewn along the ground in the sun
is the print of a cloud.
saucers, shards, tiles, grains of
burst glass,
steel-capped boot of a sunbather breathing dust.

it came over me that there is corruption
it came over me that there was corruption
pleased with fancy words
I talk of me not "us"
rhinestone jackets
an ash-wave flung into the sea and bobbing back
a wave in which suspends
baby shoes, stink jelly, wrinkled hose



Post a Comment

<< Home

Powered by Blogger