smoke stacks,
mechanic shops,
the belch of diesel,
the cynical eyes of a junkyard dog,
cubed cars
beget streams of leaking gas,
pop cans,
broken signs,
discarded hubcaps,
delivery men argue,
cops speed through,
cigarette butts,
used condoms,
dumpsters drip rust,
bums wander hopelessly,
in fields of overgrown weeds,
time is drunken angel,
tired,
uncertain,
indifferent,
the heart becomes an industrial park.
2 comments:
Dude, you should try to write some less optimistic stuff. The joy and bliss oozing out of of your poems is almost nauseating.
Keep up the Bukowsisms!
What a strange comparison. It's blatantly gritty and beautiful.
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