20/30

4/20/13


We wait. The roads have cracked and
 sprouted  and still we wait.
 The buildings cough and sigh through broken hinges
and still we wait. The sky weeps ash; timber relics
in a moribund dawn - and still we wait.

Some say he will come
on a winged beast, large enough to block out the
whiteyellow glare of the sun.
Some say he will tunnel through the earth and
burst through our bunker walls.
Some say it is a she, a woman with lights in her fingers,
with fire in her hair. They all agree that one day
the iron and steel doors above us will be lifted,
the chemical fog will dissipate, and
we will stumble into the world once more.

I was born here in this steel and rivet cistern,
have known nothing but it's cool grey embrace.
It was built in the beforetimes, the green times