XIX

Watch as the catapults churn through the
smog to release their poison to the skies.

These are chemtrails I have longed to see;
breathe it in, my brother and see what the

future has in store! The Gods have left this
place to its own sordid devices so take a

seat, this should soon get fun. How many
tickets for this raffle did you buy? There’s

a rainbow we can chase to the edge of the
Earth, if you’re really that desperate, dear?

#365DaysOfPoetry

XVIII

These fine rails that rile and grip the hands
of the many as they walk were set into stone

to appease the greater good. The flummoxed
masses that weave and groan as the day

grows longer and plays with the night. Their
revolts are expected and reflected in wine

that they sup with a haste I’ve not seen yet.
Still we must hold them up, steady and still,

hoping one day that they notice the support
or the stench of rusted metal on their hands.

Finder’s Fee

I tried to catch a fox;
skinny and worn and
shocked by light,
it scurried from me
as though I meant it harm.

Tail fixed straight down
and fur thin and brown
not red and thick
like perhaps once
intended.

With furtive glances
I passed it by:
blind to its retreat.

It eyed me, so sad,
and the traffic growled
its smoke at us
as we stood there waiting for
something to happen.

I turned and walked.
It blinked and licked
and scuttled for some
shadow from the sun.

A dog might pass
on a lead with a scent
and then it would
make it all
more singular.

#365DaysOfPoetry