"Smoke Filled Rooms"

Fall-out chains across the agenda,
issues mist the verbal blur,
weapons wait tense on lips,
lungs filled with poisoned air.

Stab!
Oh, so good the first time,
such nerves, such achievement,
but now, again, again,
for what?


setting
from detritous

image: po

Dylan Harris
86-87

it's my hands
my difficulty with melancholy
hence the coldness
fear in flight, god
dog sea
push pop
all
publish

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