Drama by John Grey

 

agony of nausea

is almost a solid thing

to one side of him

 

as if times were made of pie crust

being towed away

while blanket that covered it

is cold as the ashes

that don’t float off,  don’t move

 

life hung straight up in the air

too tired now to lock its own doors

rats sang in dark corners

to the riff she played

 

smoke didn’t dissolve,

someone larger staggered dazed

she stood all night

stiff and yellowish

straight up and down

such depths everywhere

like corn fields

 

air that seeped

in the sorrows of the world

jittered the wet air

 

there is no waking

not anywhere.

through the rusted screens

time passed –

to swell toward the sun-sparkled

underwater

 

she heard bodies

veil of smoke

voices in other rooms beginning

where patterns leave off

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