Green Stick

Fractured air

A broken self.

He is addicted to the music
and the warm of songs.

The light of a dream
dies out flat
behind wet curtains.

There’s blood in his words;
he is bruised from running.

Green stick snap
fills a field of beats
where dusty shoes slap the angry
Of youth.

Belt buckles. Tight shirts.
Cigarette smoke circles ink spot eyes
and rolls over tattooed knives.

A sidewalk home with
faces alike and voices similar
linger under city lights
where gray is the
only bright.

Roger G. Singer

Archived 07/06/2011