This poem is taken from Stand 218, 16(2) May - June 2018.
Four Poems
Text in the City
Slips of crystal powder, the stash, the gear, the bong
suddenly became the buzz and fuzz of words
neither right nor wrong.
Had the tongues of fire burnt out his inner ear?
Had a honeyed syllable left a voice mail
...
Slips of crystal powder, the stash, the gear, the bong
suddenly became the buzz and fuzz of words
neither right nor wrong.
Had the tongues of fire burnt out his inner ear?
Had a honeyed syllable left a voice mail
...
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