deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Sixth Circle
Holding up three fingers,
all but the ends
shouting, "Read between the fucking lines!"
I look sideways at them,
folding in on their own crisp air bubble.
They are facing away
towards a lanky slit of gas.
Maybe it's a tree.
They don't notice us,
it could be a rouse
but I'm told we're safe.
I look at my thumb
and try to remember
what matters.
all but the ends
shouting, "Read between the fucking lines!"
I look sideways at them,
folding in on their own crisp air bubble.
They are facing away
towards a lanky slit of gas.
Maybe it's a tree.
They don't notice us,
it could be a rouse
but I'm told we're safe.
I look at my thumb
and try to remember
what matters.
Published 30th Jan 2012
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