blame can be apportioned
on the landlord's back
a cladding of inferior quality
wrapped his building's stack

flames quickly engulfed
all the floor levels
tenants were trapped on
such unsafe bevels

what chance did they stand
in getting out of the tower
a cheap Chinese covering  
encasing their bower

deaths were assured
by faulty material
much loved ones lives
seemingly immaterial

construction standards
perished with the smoke
slack council regulations
a legislative choke

Sometime before
eight in the morn
the driver takes
his car to pump four
for a pre-work
gas station coffee break
with three cups or more
of caffeine to take
the fog off
of these early morning
day’s lazy haze.
Then the driver
goes on his way
on the highway.

The highway is a field for
the dead or dying to explore
if they want more
than the daily grind
of nine to four.

The rain watered road
makes the truck driver’s
tires spin with
wet smoke and misty ghosts.

Broke black tread
lay scattered on
the highway bed.

When the road splits
to unknown exits
the driver shifts
but does not
change lane.
Instead,
he follows
the predictably
predestined path
rolling on into
a totally expected
death.

"What happened to her?"
It's better if you Don't. Ask.
See she wears Depression on her face,
In bloodshot eyes and dark circles,
In early age lines and pale cheeks,
In bitten, chapped lips.
You want to ask, "what happened to her?"
But it's better if you don't look too closely,
Or the spider-web cracks across her porcelain mask
Will break
You can already see the black smoke eking through
Joined to the shadowy frame of the one who walks beside her
Caressing her filigree skin and flicking a lighter.
She says, "I want someone to take the pain,
**** it, smoke it, love it, beat it, praise it, blaze it, lemon-glaze it,
Kiss it, kick it, shoot it, carve it, wear it, taste it, light it on fire."
But all we ever say is "you're looking so much better now"
So much better now.
Like a marionette in a little side show, colorful, with ribbons.
A broken smile, and sad, sad eyes.
So beautifully tragic, it must all be for show.
Though the silver she draws with, its ink a bright red,
Is more telling than any lie she has fed
Fed on, cried on, choked on, drowned with, like a gluttonous pig.
So what happened to her? And the life she once led?
Those honeyed dreams turned to mutinous greys in her head?
It's better if you turn away and smile,
And pretend your heart inside isn't as dead,
She only wears the pain most hold inside, swallowing a painful life from a flask sewn into the flesh of her hip,
It's better if you didn't ask.

Dirt

Block

Wood

Basic definition

Plus space always between

As a boy always inviting

The dogs liked it

Spiders liked it

I liked it

I could see feet come and go

Hear the car doors slam

Someone asking ,Where's Tom run off to ?"

That day ,

The fight inside spilled out

Angry steps  

Yells and screams

Shouts

The sound of fists hitting flesh

Breaking bones

You crumpled to the ground

Vacant eyes staring at me

But you couldn't see

Blood began running

Hands picking you up

I could hear you

Bouncing on the back seat

The door slammed

Another opened

"Slam"

The car roared angrily

Gravel flung everywhere

Dust settled

All's quite

Did I tell you

It's cool under there ?