conditions

All we killers
raking air out of lungs
and the trees.

Although I’ve no force
I comply breaking the chain
removing dirt and odours
the while with petrochemical skin
that lights up and
in my hair the slippery
molecules and plastic roots.

As if efficiency was enough god
and out of the tar pits
you raise the candle.

Comments

Popular Posts

Questions, but no answers: while editing a manuscript

Viva the Real - shortlisted!

‘The fast fold of fret lines’: Intimacy, ecopoetics, and the local