by COLIN JAMES
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One millionth of me is
spread unevenly
beneath this cruddy felt
robe.
The rest can be
negotiated.
Why doesn't this wash?
Could be my balcony
has relocated itself
internally.
Implosion is not a death
we weary contentedly
contemplate.
Fallacy should liven
things up.
Keep an eye on the
rooftops!
Let the week old egg
rolls sustain us
with simply the saltiest
of brown blood.
|
Colin James has poems
forthcoming in THE DELINQUENT and THUNKBOOK. He lives in Massachusetts. His poem, “IDYLLIC WITH TWO L'S”,
appears in the June 2013 issue of HelloHorror
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