Streets like threads woven into the city

Knot at the harbor

Am I moving uphill or down?

Echo of my footsteps

Centimes in my pocket tap rhythm

Lost in the working class maze

Homes expand and collapse

Expelling screaming ghosts

With every yawn and step upon uneven stones


Piss in the same alleys as Napoleon

The pavement slippery with allegory

History hunches my shoulders

With its random weight

The light slithers in my eyes

As I lay back on the street

In the swirling green absinthe smoke

Will no one call the shore patrol?


The kiosk is toppled

Words tumble and twist and escape

on the push of winter winds

The men and police stand and stare

Like puzzled insects with sharp claws

To be behead enemies and lovers

Qui nettoiera ce désordre ?


The summit of an amazing canvas

Dancing headlights shop windows and beer signs

These blend into a divine ray

What time is it?

Watch ticks loudly and wakes the workers

Gut burns like a star collapsing

The man with two heads pushes his bicycle

His words are mush mouthed distant

My lips moves to speak

But I am without language


We are the only two stars out tonight

And yet we are silent to another


Kevin McCoy

Listed at Duotrope
Listed with Poets & Writers
CLMP Member
List with Art Deadline
Follow us on MagCloud