It gives you pigeon eyes,
makes you brave
as a cracked slate
with all the weight
of a house on top.
makes you brave
as a cracked slate
with all the weight
of a house on top.
It bids you
hold out your quaky hand
through bittersweet temptations.
You dream of it as slick
silvery fish between your hands
wide eyed & breathless
but it circles your bleeding
feet like sharks.
At evening time
between lampposts & garbage
drums turned over in the wind,
poverty is black ice...
or a train, whose departure you miss,
whistling at you in the distance.
Your will is chalky on your tongue
like aspirin
& patience hangs like frayed
dreads down your back.
Morning bends
the scalpel-sharp pain
in the rib cage,
love's sulfur-dazed eyes.
Two tea bags in your wallet
for when the day is done
& poverty at your feet
like a hungry dog
laps up the sweat of your calves.
You come & go not speaking
fumbling for a ripcord
through a thousand leagues of wild wind.
No comments:
Post a Comment