Jobsite Poem by Marcos Oro
Jobsite
In the synapses of air
You rolled around in clumps
of mud. Scabrous, mugged.
Sleeping in the back of a junked car
speed yellow in bugged night oblivion
A fat frog jumped out of your loaf
The icy clouds and lack of blood-
Pulled up hoods and animal skins
The mortar scraped on the last few bricks
The fires lit in the last few eyes-
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: sad
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5/3/2024 8:26:17 PM # 1.0.0.1119
