A crossing wind
flutters over the lawn.
A black car shuffles down
the street as
I ease my bike into the traffic.
Only hope is for sale.
It sits like a dusty jar
.................. left stagnant
.........................in the basement.
I listen to the sound of the swamp
.................. that flocks like mosquitoes
............................ in and out of me.
Joined on the road by
...............other black shuffling cars,
I tense my buttocks in
........... preparation for
..........the ass fucking
................. I'll receive
for daring to think my own mind.
Leave a tiny spark of departing fashion
........... as you drain me of my will to create.
I'll drop an arm across the table
...............so you can bleed me.
A crossing wind
flutters over the lawn.
Chris G. Vaillancourt
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/black-shuffling-cars/
