Two dents in large pink head.
Black cap passed back.
Skinny arsed teen
alights at Eye.
Bare neon tube
in empty frame
of bust up sign
above dead shop
stutters: flustered gas.
Small boy's held stare then
my bright bloodrush viciousness.
Cloud bunches go along over.
"Bunches" briefly appeared as "punches", to the damaged eye, in the bruising and buffeting of this -- the aftermath of near asphyxiation in the psychic plume of the sputtering bust up dead shop signage.
ReplyDeleteIn brief, ow, evidently the season.
Unsentimental, always to be called for in the hard passage.
(Saw this through a Goya filter, for some odd or perhaps no real reason...)
It wasn't until I'd read your comment that I realized how singularly lacking in Dickensian Christmas Charm this was, Tom. I'm very glad it was "cloud punches".
ReplyDelete
ReplyDeletealways get your traveling
accumulating atmosphere
of a specific place and am
transported into somebody
else's skin briefly poetically