Desolation Alley

a weak light rises over the chimneys

the grass is the colour of piss

smog prises its fingers into bronchial lungs

a dog with three legs barrels down the street

curtains stained with inquisitive glances

stare out at the paperboy on a rusty bike

a cat crawls under a red Cortina parked on bricks

November exhales a grey breath on the windows

inside

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The curtains a cocoon

which I have outgrown

crushing me

though I dare not venture out

my wings maimed

by an internal eternity.

Some days they open

as the sunlight shines

and snow falls

yet it remains a parallel world

a door to an unfamiliar universe

remains locked.

Even inside plates pile up

like a porcelain possum

they ...

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