the cancerous morning air
BQE traffic destroys me at a cellular level
every morning – five days out of the week
and when i come home from office places i feel murder brewing hard behind
the bones of my face turning to a sick jade death mask
i dont want to breathe
i am tired of cigarette smoke pouring out of the lips of children in a city over-run with combustion engines
i dont want to breathe cigarette smoke unless your breath is mixed with it
what are all these pretty little darlings to you?
i am tired of them and i turn away from their laughter
their cycles deflect me to quieter roads
no desire is in me to join them
the pollution of sorrow is layered on me because you are not walking beside me
why should i keep the tangles from my hair and the red spots from my face?
there is no bourbon bottle thoughts to make light of the daily chores besieging me
i do not want to breathe
but sighs come often