HARD AT THE TOP, HARDER AT THE BOTTOM chris hughes

Why write poems in wartime? 
Your alma mater is pathetic.

I Survive off melting photographs
& the deliciousness of the words tap-dance
around your head & dissuade themselves 

of everything.

Fat city workers scour & scar
molten asphalt. I ride by on my bicycle

pliant yet willing to have the next great
tidal wave crash down upon me. 

& The letters disappear on my keyboard when
oscillations of fans blow through my mind

simple engine, oh gospel, why must life be so
allegorical?