Wrapped in Dust MitesJames Grinwis
Scene of grey and green: fuses, toys and such as gets spread across a half desert/ half forest kind of place, when with the flick of a switch the scene changes (the wood too), to a cluster of naked people dipping themselves in clogged pools. Numbed beyond what is attributable to scenes and stuff: someone is depressed north of here, a man in a Toyota is punching the horn, another man has taken a pole and thrust it through the windows of a small establishment, like some swim-bladderless fish pushing its gills from the soffocating silt, bits and pieces of crap floating around, things it should try harder to elude. Its myth is a mighty bugbear who never moves, never changes place. Like a restaurant where the service is horrible but the meals tend toward the divine.
James Grinwis Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
|©copyright 2004-2022, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors.|