The mildewed hour stank of discontent.

Words rotted on damp page.

Leaden thoughts sank in a swamp of self.

Nostrils quivered in disgust and

spoors smudged the clean.

Bird feather thoughts rattled.

Nerves jumped like fleas

on a dank carpet of yesterday.

Thick ugly air crawled.

The ink line stopped

where point pierced paper.

Thunder shattered the fetid gloom.

Harvested clouds washed the air,

leaving an arch of smiles.

Words flowed, clean on life’s window.

Sun shone and tears fled eyes.

 

 

David Garlick, Puerto Vallrta, November, 1997