Rhode Island Washout (1)

Toes cramped: remember all the lead.

The houses here still have lead pipes,

and children were/are born, raised

inside of them (this means

zombies are real, though they

enjoy the daylight; just

look at Van’s Spa) and

the apocalypse is now, too.

 

Ex-girlfriend whirlwind

(images images) again when

dusty cigarette splits with flame

(though no puffs now, not here,

where they don’t know me)

and smoke froths forth

across the mosquito-scaled

walls of that damp yellow room;

 

curse that hot-house. And the air

conditioner here has not been on

at all today, yet. Mad sun, heat us up.