04-04-2014, 11:14 AM
The car rubbing rubber against
The wet asphalt,
A relentless activity
Until finally – fire.
A billion babies
Screeching for their mothers,
Their minute legs kicking
For the milk from their bosoms.
The distant whistle of a man
slicing the silence like a sharp
calling out for the dog he never had.
The wind laughs at a joke
until it runs out of breathe,
Stops to inhale,
Then laughs again.
Sweat in form of drops,
Drip on my bed sheets,
And I find myself . . .
Humming along.
The wet asphalt,
A relentless activity
Until finally – fire.
A billion babies
Screeching for their mothers,
Their minute legs kicking
For the milk from their bosoms.
The distant whistle of a man
slicing the silence like a sharp
calling out for the dog he never had.
The wind laughs at a joke
until it runs out of breathe,
Stops to inhale,
Then laughs again.
Sweat in form of drops,
Drip on my bed sheets,
And I find myself . . .
Humming along.