sometimes when I drive to work
the city looks like it is burning.

the sun slipping into the horizon
its wrath ablaze.

it casts raging orange hues across
glass windowed skyscrapers.
it creates a skyline filled with furious fire.

the back of my neck burning
from the warmth of the sun still setting,
and if i think about it long enough,
i can feel the glass windows melting.

i've always imagined the city like this,
raging
and chaos
with life fleeting.

and if i turn the music down,
and roll down the window slightly,
i think i can hear the souls screaming.

deep cries
while life just slips
from their fingertips

the point is,
it looks like the city is dying,
skin blistering, ash breathing

and just for a minute here I think
that this is the cityscape of my mind

all the rage,
and the fury.

and it makes me question why the reflected orange
brings me such peace.

The Secret of Her Clothes
by Michael R. Burch

The secret of her clothes
is that they whisper a little mysteriously
of things unseen

in the language of nylon and cotton,
so that when she walks
to her amorous drawers

to rummage among the embroidered hearts
and rumors of pastel slips
for a white wisp of Victorian lace,

the delicate rustle of fabric on fabric,
the slightest whisper of telltale static,
electrifies me.

Published by Erosha, Velvet Avalanche (Anthology) and Poetry Life & Times

Keywords/Tags: clothes, lingerie, nylon, cotton, amorous, drawers, slips, lace, static, electricity, mystery, mysterious