23 March 2010
looking harder
finding nothing
only clothing
on a clothesline
nothing alters
not even seasons
all is winter
night thunder
a soft curtain billows
catchment of air
rainfall
first moist kiss
upon the
window upon the
world
leaves
of the dead poet
Michael
sift in a paperback sieve
I ignite
a nicotine missile
smoke consistently
as a means to death
and
for an illusion of company
a smoke filled room
in my
weird night’s hermitage
I can no longer sleep
