An Assortment Of Words

Wokingham at Dusk

i.

Pistons hiss in joints that ache
And grind to lift cigarettes robotically
With brimmed, bruised eyes of melancholy
Leaking lunatic looks in a violent wave
Tethered to our academic graves                                                                                                                                          By silk ribbons so threadbare they'll break.

ii.

Acute in focus upon crystals of frost,
Which stand like hairs on end across car bonnets,
And exhaust pipes exhale the toxins that cost,
Crystal clear in the fear
That cements them like deer
To the pavement before headlamps that
Excel ever near.