She's the poison i'd consume every drop of.

Just when we thought
there was all the time
in the world
the alarm went off.

you are my boo
  and i wish you knew
  you flew like an ooh
  then vanished with pew

I wash my hands
as the Rome burns to the ground
I smoke a cigarette at the balcony
as the city goes in lockdown

my city
my city
It's a ghost-town.
my people
my people
I am lost without.

A gray wet plume
rising

from the bottom of  black
cast iron

blowing off steam

releasing pent up
and strong emotions

and yet
we are still called human

as we continue to be such
marvelous machines

Whit Howland © 2020