skies like glass
are crying never teardrops
cockroaches write themselves out of one poem
crowd one-by-one into your words limbs under your skin
there's an after-taste of atomic waste
in the back of your throat
but you've never learnt a kiss
is a terrible thing to throw away
do the clouds still caress your eyes
can shadows haunt with an
after glow
have you stopped chainsmoking
burning heart-shaped holes in denim
legs
coin-sized spots in sofa
fabric
the random woman's still shouting
in the back of some other taxi cab
yellow and black wasted
you always ask yourself
what the friggin' hell is she shouting about
where's the last line the final word
does it hang
ripen linger
swimming in daydreams of cockroaches: your last breath
tastes like nicotine should
merges across lanes on the freeway
kissing ashphalt
lying in a burned out basement
your photo wavers on the wall
like a guillotine
no time for tear
drops look up glass like skies
have another cigarette
So many fantastic images in this - I love it all, so rich, so satisfying, oh that photo wavering like a guillotine!!!!!!!
ReplyDeleteThanks James ;) I'll make to make sure the photo wavering like a guillotine makes a comeback in another poem.
ReplyDeleteCockroach Daydreams
ReplyDelete-- that's what we can call the collection
Hey Kit - Uber yes! Cockroach Daydreams - it can be a collection of our works. And any other 365+1 who want to feature cockroaches in their poems too - an open invite!
DeleteAh!
ReplyDelete