gasoline

I smell like gasoline now
unlike some others
walking past in thrifty coats
it's cold for a moment
a suffering in the city-my home town
similarly I huddle, smelling the gasoline
on my fingers

metropolitan blitheness
a chopper descending on the bookstore
no cause for alarm
no cause for a second glance, a mothering instinct

my neck aches like Italy
the metallic parts have rusted out
a fleshy lemon
squeezed of my acid

©2006 Andrew French

on the way home, winter 2007

the clouds are over us

the clouds are over us
the fans are on, blowing hot air out of the room
our eyes are dusty
I throw the coins, the I-ching says "Peace"
heaven below earth
it would be good if you were still here
then I could talk to you again
and calm you down
I wrote about being trapped in cages
but you were already buried
beneath a thousand tons of earth
they were all screaming at you
all the time, the voices
and I climbed a tree in the backyard that once
we were drunk, and we watched a sad movie

©2006 Andrew French

cocoon

cocoon

a weed among flowers

harmony entwined in dissonance

wrapped in wool

a dark salty sea
engulfed in mystery

©2006 Andrew French

Riverside Market, boarded up in the spring of 2006

a solemn milky moon

a solemn milky moon hung perilously
jealous of the sun,
crackling of the snow,

there was no place for us to go,
so we walked into the field.
a melody as real as grass
came to us from the stars
there were no cars
no trains or malls or halls

a melody as pure as silk
came to us from the stars
no one knew how far we were
from where we used to be
the house it was so far away
looked to me as warm as bread
a melody
came to us.

©2006 Andrew French