Tuesday, March 7, 2017

Kristen de Kline #68 - kissing ashphalt

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
coin-sized spots     in sofa

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


  1. So many fantastic images in this - I love it all, so rich, so satisfying, oh that photo wavering like a guillotine!!!!!!!

  2. Thanks James ;) I'll make to make sure the photo wavering like a guillotine makes a comeback in another poem.

  3. Cockroach Daydreams
    -- that's what we can call the collection

    1. 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!


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