the dollars are slow.
they walk in like wounded men.
when is the riot?
burned thoughts
in the cold bright day
you can see your breath speak back.
ghosts of burned up thoughts.
pressed flowers
yesterday’s flowers,
seem rosier than today’s.
pressed flat in my mind.
bloody stumps
keep soldiering on
she said to me with straight face.
bloody stumps for limbs.
pain in vein
heart a butterfly
trapped hostage in bony cage.
pain hot in my veins.
yellow light
smokey yellow light,
under the street lamp of night.
fog nuzzles like breath