scott moore | gosnold street dig


Out back
The old tenement
3 floors of story
The asphalt crevassed
Cinderblocks battle and bulge
To retain industrial soil

Vacant spaces and broken windows
Chain smoking again
Rehearsing my moves
For projected scenario’s
The cigarettes smoldering
At my feet, cry for rationality

Pit bulls and circumstance
Wander the side walks of
Angry thought
Pedestrians wearing masks
Flounder with shopping bags
Fearing loss in footsteps

Across the street
Once was Norton Company
Now is Saint Gobain
Its laundry stains the local pubs
The suds spilled into streets

Cab rides and crack houses
Do daylight deals
Stop and drops
A shoelace away, all
Remind you its urban, its war

Four ghosts painted
On the picket fence out back
The tagger, the message
Someday the postage
May get returned

Burner phones
For no trace neighborhoods
Scattered and crunched on corners
Firewood for a smarter play

Seconds are minutes
When you’re tasting time
There’s a spotter, top floor right
His dog clock traces the rhythms
Of faces and footsteps

One click on you
Two clicks off
One click, two clicks
Three clicks, four

Sirens, house fires and hustles
Trains talking all night long
Home for now
Hell for some

Outcast and exiled
Under the night sky
The cigarettes amber
Outlines my shadow face

Manic and pulsing
The drags are deeper now
I’m waiting for the ghosts
And clocks to stop
Searching for bones to pick
Lurking for action

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.