The lost art of self destruction…


Inches up or down the eyes make, a tower’s perspective versus that of mice that scatters

Fog snakes between alleys, a finger snaps and a train screams against the tracks

In the silence after rainfall, coins hit against payments and the insides of guitar bags, the crows are still hungry, but the dog’s belly is full

The smell of garbage calls the seagulls the roaring of boats calls for home

A comedian makes a joke, a girl is excited, like a cat she hisses and purrs, then later claws and moans

A bum dies and a baby inhales and no one tells the story, just some candle somewhere flickers but then keeps on going

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