behind old, crusty, crufty facades
spalling, spilling over into the calm air above the quiet street
ancient colours tinged as softly pink as the background sky
as i walk by in wonder
stealing glimpses at the great nothing that embraces us all
-
the sun shines brightly cutting through the haze into tight corners of the post-atomic daze the concrete alley floor, with its broken flow...
-
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...
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.