Saturday, February 7, 2009

a rainy day at home

this is a poem by spencer. i thought of it today as i had our windows open while it rained and a lady in high heels walked past, making clicking sounds on the wet pavement.

The poetry of the city is
women with sharp minds and pointy noses
with voices beautifully raspy
walking through the smoke from their cigarettes
cheeks blushing from the teasing wind
that conjures up the smoke from an underground beast that makes frequent stops to fill its belly with men who swallow pain for their power fixation,
spits them out once more for another helping

all the busy people with nowhere to go
and all the fashionable people with no one to impress
it has no rhyme
and It does not reason

~spencer smith

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