ADAM DAY 

 

                                     



UNEASE

 

 

The sun wore out

the mesh of the morning

air, wind pitched

among the weeds, the hum

of ducks like government

buildings. The swelling

perfectly upholstered

nursing home, the trees

sucking at the heat.

Monkfish on ice above

the slow, slick fluid

at the curb. Cabs go on

moving over the streets

like a fog, as if invisible,

as the beaked policeman

idiotically crosses himself.

 

                                                                                                      

 

      

 

                                   

 

 


TYPO 21