04.05.04
After the moist attack
which lasted for several outstretched minutes,
the sun arrives, falling drunk into the street.
Every leaf is cupping a table-spoon
of rememberance, clinging to the high
like a boisterous blend of
nicotine, swilling through the paper
veins. Above the houses the clouds
retreat, a depleting formation of grey.
Small feet connect with cement, the sticky
rain licking rubber. The birds stalk soil,
pendulum eyed, for any attempt of escape.
Chimneys start to breathe again, stale air
moves through compact passages, coughing
like the man who stands
drenched across the road. His cotton
hair collapsed across his chalky skull,
fighting for an un-diluted breath.
He lights a cigarette that plays
with the honey glistening smile of the sun
picking from his skin, a tired and heavy vest.
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