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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