Layers of graffiti, bullet holes, black mold,
walls that curl at the top and arch
somewhere in the mist above our heads:
we’ve been walking this way, it seems, forever.
If only it smelled of trains, or mushrooms,
or bad advice, instead of ourselves, amplified,
the smell of a head turning left, right,
searching for a way out. The light in the distance
never seems to grow any larger, and sleep
is the ghost of sleep, what we remember
of the time before we went below,
when we woke each morning to the sun in our eyes.
Marc Pietrzykowski lives and works and writes in Niagara County, NY, USA. He has published various and sundry poems, stories, and essays, as well as 10 books of poetry and 3 novels. His next 2 books of poetry will be published in May 2023. You can visit Marc virtually at www.marcpski.com