Nothing earthshaking here and they need more work, although I think I returned some dignity to the bored typist and well, the dog is okay.
Unreal City,(Dogs, too, in the Wasteland)
death
sighs, short and infrequent
flow up the hill
with a dead sound
I knew,
and stop
that corpse
disturbed
the dog friend
with his nails dig it !
————————————————
A Passing on the Wasteland
at the violet hour, a taxi throbbing
between two
breasts,
brings the
typist home clears her lights
tins
her drying combinations
with one bold stare
she is bored and tired
and
bestows one patronising kiss,
finding the stairs unlit
she turns her automatic hand
beside a public
whining
and a clatter from
fishmen
the walls
inexplicable
with the turning