gold hammers and whitewalls

in the pale of
a new Spring,
old men
in sighing
baseball caps
eat hotdogs
in a parking lot
behind the firehall.

steam from
grilled meat.

steam from
lungs.

the heart is
a volunteer,
it leaps
like flame
from lash
and tongue.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: