cottage
By scorp
Jutting skeletons of homes at sunset
Flies and smog twisting the air as they fight,
Heavy heart, heavy smoke full of regret,
Chasing the horizon, the blinking lights.
The city is unforgiving: chokes, poisons, mocks,
Plastic ruffles on the ground in rising cacophony
Ebony wisps of haze killing birds in flocks,
The hands begging in the streets, long and bony.
Dreams of a cottage by a calm, gurgling creek,
The crunch of glass and smiles underneath my boots
Storms and hope run through the wearied pipes and leak.
All ten fingers covered in cuts, ash and soot.
I pack up my dreams, knowing I can’t stay,
Jangle of keys, cough of a poison car,
Leave the metal cans, liquor, the ashtray.
Followed by treks of mud, cigars and tar.
I know the cottage is very far away.
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