They smile pitifuully downward,
and i wave ever so slightly, then turn the other way.
Sewer scum hangs heavy,
it would be great to scrape it off...
.......maybe.
The sogginess speaks for so much,
so much that's been sacrificed,
for opaque waters,
Through which I swim in the peaceful
Oblivion of the insane.
Rays of light bounce off
my empty eyelids, painted with the soot of the streets,
As I force a dripping hand above
the lukewarm comfort.
I find no solace, but I now must find,
No. Yes? I'll think about it tomorrow.
Jane Wanklin
a better way to live than this...
......maybe.
Is hiding such a heinous crime?
clutched possessively to my breast,
and just melt right into the pot with the other fish.
1997.