Days on end

Us two
outsynched.

Our towns, cities, mock us,
us who wanted and felt,
making maze of our craves,
sowing Sohos, stubborn
rows of Sohos, the traps,
across their grounds and lawns.
So
we go round and round
through those boroughs, my fly,
stealing our rest
from the breasts of Neros,
sit on pavements and lick windows,
the displays of our hopes, of the keys to our hopes,
all ours to have

on five-
day loans.

Us who wanted and felt.

We reply with moments.
We write pictures, draw words.

We have our feathered masks,
our sunglasses for breath,
our worthless
gifts
of mind
to kill the days on end.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s