extext

I walk the frozen alleys and search
through waste and excess. Hope is
a great evil just as
the Greeks suspected. Leaves blow
up from the ground while dirt falls
down like a sad gaze.

Mud bricks crumble in another part
of this shaky world. The city I live in
is made of wooden boxes.
Hillsides give way under the weight
of a little blue butterfly. Somewhere
in China a boy cries.

Mom gave you the gift of expectation.
Dad let you have doubt. Why this
icy alley and these
hellish yellow lights? Phone calls
do not go through. Hands hammer.
My fingers nail.

# posted by Lar @ 12:20 PM