song, for a shitty city

hands in the garden

song for a shittysinking sacked b-flat
song for a
city

too breakdown flustered to
even hear it,

same sad-sexy horn
section swell

drifts dust clouds down
bustling street

to dissolve in grimied
crags of skeleton bone
prisons

down sordid, teethy,
lowly sewer
grates

pinched tune for sorry
soul once
spun,

punched balls brass 
heart of  no one –

©Anthony Gorman 2018

images: pixabay

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Author: Kindra M. Austin

Author of fiction, poetry, and very sweary social commentary. Editor and writer for Sudden Denouement, Whisper and the Roar, and Blood Into Ink. Founder of One for Sorrow. Founding member of Indie Blu(e).

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