crumpled bedsheets we trace the curves
Tag: poem
dawn gentle on infant eyes waking
the city grim rolls over and screams fumes
open air peeing the city reeks of death
the erratic whispers in the house of old gods
bare for all and yet for none winter silence
the destination is death and that is truth
cyclist cursing the heavens barely blinked
the violence of leaves blown by winter gales
constant echoing death machinery hum
