and through the morning tree light - the path becomes crowded, packs of wolf like men panting in spandex, the narrow lanes full of a rushing rushing rushing
along the river vistas a cold steam lifts, mingles with the exhaust, yellow, gold
the night cry softens, warmth
seeps into the bones, the knee, starts to ache
monday: on the mall, women everywhere, breasts bouncing, smelling like watermelons
doing laps around the big cock (what tha fohk? I can see why it ain’t ever gonna stop)
tuesday: its squeegee day in the reflecting pool, big lawnmowers everywhere
roaring over the beaten ground.
No comments:
Post a Comment