where art collides

Sits outside on the step,
fag in hand,
talking about “her staff”,
watching the clock,
32 rooms of boredom,
licensed garage,
roadside existence,
traffic thunders by,
local girl with a smoker’s face.

This entry was posted on Saturday, April 7th, 2012 at 5:48 pm and is filed under chinks, poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.