soft threads of metal
coiling around me, tight
keeping the cold winter's morn
from touching me with its icy fingers
soft threads of metal
wrap around my head
sneak into my ears
massage my mind
peals of thunder
stones of hail pelting asphalt
peals of thunder
rains pour down
filling the gutter
traversed by oily skin
dirty rainbow tendrils sliding smoothly past
huge bubbles form in the gutter
rise up, as from the bottom inner edges of a soda can
each bubble climbing and meeting a line
streaking down from the clouds
the hotel clambers to a halt
throws open its double doors
we rise up into the warm lobby on the red carpet
[context]
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the sun shines brightly cutting through the haze into tight corners of the post-atomic daze the concrete alley floor, with its broken flow...
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for fourteen years i wished my father dead at the age of eighteen i buried him it would take another six years to be rid of his physica...
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