Oct 2013
In the nights
are sculptures
in bleach colour,
their soft shapes
huddled together
on street corners.
Like Pompeii
as tar flooded,
sunk into spaces,
they stood so
still as though
alabaster angels.
are sculptures
in bleach colour,
their soft shapes
huddled together
on street corners.
Like Pompeii
as tar flooded,
sunk into spaces,
they stood so
still as though
alabaster angels.
Do I like this poem? No, but it will have to do for now.
