(no subject)
Strands of that ugly, greenish fire
Purge the hard will of discourse
That emptiness of fire stains
With heat the glowing room
There is nowhere for you to be
There is nothing in the water
Smooth stones and fecal matter
Curling white-knuckled under the water
Filing through outdated names
Address cards and greenish flames-
The old smoke putrefies its air
As old men comb their brittle hair
And underneath their crippled feet
Lay dead the old men turned to peat