ACID RAIN
                            by Martin Zialcita  


                        And when the wisps of smoke
                        Gathered above the chimney tops,
                        A single piano was heard
                        Playing a Hungarian Dance.

                        And then it stopped.

                        An ash tray full of dreams
                        And hallucinations
                        Lay beside an empty bed,
                        With a farmer in black robes
                        Standing at a corner of the room.
                        Laughing.

                        And sprawled inbetween
                        The piano and the bed
                        Was a woman staring vacant-eyed
                        At the ceiling  - 
                        Holding the ash tray of dreams.
  
                        And the farmer kept on laughing.


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© 1997 kamandag@rocketmail.com

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