For by Joseph Carthey

Shoved into a morning with the cold sigh
of someone rusted by responsibility
and its constraints,

There could be no way to silence
the spirited cluster of a station
angrily juvenile in its disquiet.

Cirrus hangs like salmon on a line,
flooded across the city and
half-sleeping, a landscape false

With no comparison to our
shitty bed east from here,
where nothing feels like work.


Date: 2018

By: Joseph Carthey (1996- )

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: