Tuesday, February 22, 2011

the sea sponge

train bellowing heard from 6th floor vantage
point in the night
when any sound
a signal.

the way lyrics, tidbits from some Los Angeles thought,

seep into this form
cropping up behind eyelids and memory boards
like palm trees in a rural American town,
the type plastic-wrapped in winter

cut too short for summer. irregular
and increasingly common. (these walls porous, an embarassment.)

No comments:

Post a Comment