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.