Monday, April 1, 2013

Les Wicks


In all the tower blocks
we are naked
our fractious, abraded flesh
retaliates, it
is scraping sky.

She wakes with the change,
leaves the tinder of the sheets -
air alchemical smoke
this dream.
Her lungs wait at the window,
fevers of each border.

Fruitbats soot the nascence
of the labial fall into mind.
Work is everywhere. The hoot of waking trains -
shifts shift, working hand & steamy coffee.
Dawn is theorem, our night never happened
we stand above silt
in the museum of heat.

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