April 12, 2009 § Leave a comment

plants in this city grow

over the looking the steam

breathing the air

is worse than smoking 2 packs of cigarettes a day

across from me

the man’s skin looks like

wind beaten newspaper

car horns

crack the air

the water

drips into the sink

too slow to catch

like a cockroach

we, like all sentient beings

nourish on everything which

kills us


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