These muck lined tunnels
teach a history lesson
that stains my hands.
Spirit dampened
worse than my socks.
Endless incremental sloshes
in slimy darkness.
Blindness is my companion.
If only my nose were blind.
Catching a fish-market fragrance
or fresh worm feces.
Both equally unpleasant.
Enraptured at the cliché up ahead,
my eyes adjust.
Only to be welcomed
by tripping
on acid rain.
No comments:
Post a Comment