A crossing wind <br />flutters over the lawn. <br />A black car shuffles down <br /> the street as <br />I ease my bike into the traffic. <br />Only hope is for sale. <br />It sits like a dusty jar <br />.................. left stagnant <br />.........................in the basement. <br />I listen to the sound of the swamp <br />.................. that flocks like mosquitoes <br />............................ in and out of me. <br />Joined on the road by <br />...............other black shuffling cars, <br />I tense my buttocks in <br />........... preparation for <br />..........the ass fucking <br />................. I'll receive <br />for daring to think my own mind. <br />Leave a tiny spark of departing fashion <br />........... as you drain me of my will to create. <br />I'll drop an arm across the table <br />...............so you can bleed me. <br />A crossing wind <br />flutters over the lawn.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/black-shuffling-cars/
