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Premiere Generation Ink.
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smell of earth before a storm you are quiet when you close your eyes I know they are moving beneath like a milky film or children with bad dreams rolling uncomfortably around in their covers hurting just before dawn and there are meteorites hurtling just before dawn when hell is blackest the dim damp hills trees burning along their tops like frightened spider webs you say you're hungry as you sleep toward the table carry the milk steaming piles of pancakes, bacon, cue our senses I say everyone wants to not ever go back to their jobs be another instance of a thin groovy twenty-one year old heads turn toward me angry that I named the dangerous loose animals set below their almost awake lids again Peter Layton This poem appears in the Poetry Journal Premiere Generation Ink. Volume 2 Number 1 |
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