The Civilized Basement

EvilToasterElfEvilToasterElf Posts: 1,119
edited December 2004 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
The civilized basement

A collection of spent cigarettes
gather in the corner of a basement.
They whisper to each other
in the language of ash and footprints.

They speak as the small brothers of volcanoes.
They join a conversation
in the bubbly tongues of beer caps,
a language of beings beyond five cent redemption.

The cigarettes are convinced
in the absence of God
when they build their lecture halls
of dust.

They writhe about like severed fingers
among the mold,
under the savage death throes
of boilers and aging pipes.

The bottle caps grow restless
and steal away ambitious cigarettes for axels.
Two caps joined by a cigarette
roll slowly away,
metal against concrete.

Some made pacts with the bloated spiders.
Others fed eternally,
on their reflections in the puddles
dripped by the water pipes.

They lived immune
to the bursts of dawn outside.

While weeds and vines crept
through the crevices of civilization
they passed stories,
in the languid dialects
of creatures unhinged.
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • FinsburyParkCarrotsFinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    I'll be reading this one a few times. Thanks, ETE.
  • Thanks a lot for your response, it's what feeds the fires
  • Ms. HaikuMs. Haiku Washington DC Posts: 7,275
    I read this poem more slowly the second time, and it's very good. I like how industrious the cigarettes and bottle caps become in face of boredom.
    There is no such thing as leftover pizza. There is now pizza and later pizza. - anonymous
    The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
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