Brown

Christopher Brown

carbon poem

tree tops n powerlines the new face of morning telelvision blurs in the clear carbon heat of a heavy rig’s exhaust the traffic shuffled to a standstill – attention! at ease                         like always you make it home n gee you draw against the grid to laze or leaf a bookful of taint-free atolls sunsets any satin of eye shadow – you call again your lonely moratorium: goodbye corporate box of life so long ol’ friend so long mall hello my wife my geodesic biodome in Cornwall! n you live like one of the bigger journals accepting nothing unsolicited except: what certain color shall we call that sky the flying the ubiquitous bucket of flame is hanging like a bell against?

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