i am formed in the
beast brown fields
in between the sand, stone and smashed
glass conglomerate
glinting down industrial row
i am the ghost of chlorine
my hand has broken
holding my own in this
doomed Provence border
kingdom of rust and lustrous chemicals
saving every spent dream,
(crematorium scull cap furnace full)
fueling Lenten anger
my newest food: deprivation
a catalog of overtime
and baby boom- stuffed
with it until the last
tendril of mind is chocked
and still, unable to move that
luckless palm out in to the
world unable to draw the
next card, unable to out
maneuver yesterdays long
shadow, and move out in to
Canadian breeze- Arizona sun.
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