afterbirth by Ross Vassilev

there’s nothing
to do in this town but
scream

I don’t like squirrels

...(angels of blue sky
where the clouds are
gutted)...

I don’t like children

I like empty yellow
cardboard cups
that people leave
standing
beside lonely walls

sometimes
there’s a kind of soft
grey light falling--

tricks of light are
an illusion

they’re the Gods
trying to send out
a frantic S.O.S.
over the Internet
of Time.

4 comments:

Old 333 said...

I liked that. Doubleplusgood. Thanks for it!

Anonymous said...

Keep after it, Ross.

Keep writing and submitting.

Good to read you again.

Donal Mahoney

Cynthia Ruth Lewis said...

I really like your work; so simple, yet so deep

Anonymous said...

This is one of my favorite poems of Ross Vassilev. I was just getting ready to walk through the cemetery next door and his poem summed up why I walk there. Great poem. Joseph Hargraves

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Black-Listed Magazine is an online literary magazine. We publish on a rolling basis: weekly, daily, sometimes hourly. Send submissions here: blacklistedmagazine@hotmail.com