A sabotaged day–
sky blends with cement,
good intent bloated,
a swirl of Earl Grey;
the city is an ashtray.
Thought I stubbed out
your twisted face,
the daily heart attacks,
blew your lingering
smoke away.
Now, I’m on the triple bypass
highway, thinking, love is carcinogenic,
and I’m an iron-lung cynic
pulling away,
no dragging away.
Still, the city’s smokestacks
sure are sexy,
and secretly,
I want the city
to pollute me.
Poison is the prize
when Philadelphia lies
below a grey wig disguise.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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