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by Cole Atkinson

he rots at his window,
a stale cornflake man
with eyes like vulgar smoke.
behind his tree bark eyebrows,
he watches the children on the sidewalk
and paints wet dreams
of how they would taste
wrapped around his tongue.

this dirty fingernail man,
he smokes his cigarettes the wrong way round
and swallows the ashes.

04/09/2011

Author's Note: This one just kinda sprung outta nowhere.

Posted on 05/01/2011
Copyright © 2024 Cole Atkinson

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