 |
 |
 |
| |
No Hot Ashes (City Smells)
Like burnt pork ends,
the 4AM summer creeping
of the city crematoriums
thick smoked stench,
crawls across moistened,
dew speckled skin.
Tobacco blackened lungs
demand a fix,
whisky from a brown bag
to hot lips.
The lingering rot
of vomit from
some hour I'll
never recall.
I'm drunk...
... this bench is wet.
Want to comment on this Poetry?
Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...
|
 |
|
[Back to top]
|
|
 |
Comment by: precar - 2007-11-19 16:52
|
|
| Has a good pace to it, and the imagery is well done, as several others have already noted. Nicely written. |
|
|
| i agree with the above persons. the imagery is amazing...it's kinda dark...but in a funny way...idk maybe i'm reading it wrong...but to me it's like a dark comedy...awesome job...hey so i'm new, could you tell me what city smells is all about? |
 |
Comment by: Anne - 2007-09-05 16:07
|
|
you have made a good job of this nice work . I have entered city smells to0 . Best of luck
Anne |
|
|
| I love this. It's dark, but there's something wonderfully alluring about it. Plus your imagery is fantastic. |
|
|
| Death maybe but more like sleeping on a bench in a city park, drunk and out of cigarettes. Bummer but quite an interesting piece with lots of imagery. I can picture this like I am there. Very cool. |
| 1 2 Next |
|
 |
|
 |
|
|
