by Howie Good
Birds scuff for dark crumbs
under the sidewalk tables.
A police spy in the corner
notes the time. Everywhere
there are sons of bitches.
In a dingy rooming house
boarders come and go unseen
except for the burnt matches
they drop in the hall.
January 7, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Blog Archive
-
▼
2010
(221)
-
▼
January
(34)
- AGAIN
- Rusty Chain
- The Wisdom of Poppies
- Rose-tinted
- Broken Asshole
- Dusty Bloom
- BOOTS LIKE LOVE
- fireworks in the park
- Night Sonnet No.4
- The Drunk
- Strange Blindness - Sonnenizio on a line from Stac...
- Delassandro’s Meat Market
- Dead as Dillinger
- Linden Three Seven
- my new landlord
- knees
- Tornadoes in the Parlor
- Griggs' Bar and Grill
- lord
- Vilde Berg
- One Day’s Settlement Of Chaos
- On The History Of The Red And Black Races In America
- Bombs For You
- Good View
- Forever
- MISANTHROPY
- Pedophile
- homecoming
- now and then
- THE PHOTOGRAPH, COVE POINT
- Exterminating Angel
- Way Ahead of the Game
- the gutter bible ....chapter three: a song for ch...
- housing project reunion
-
▼
January
(34)
2 comments:
excellent poem, as is always the case from Howie Good
i'd cut the last line.
Post a Comment