Down to words (1328)

Shreddings (293)

 

Sam more than trifles,

More than idles

With the idols

Of the new Z-king.

 

Sam dreams awake, aware.

Downstairs

He sits the lowest stair,

Looks at the door,

Its wizened wood,

Flaked painting on the floor.

 

Horizon from below:

A breeze sneaks ‘neath the jam

He breathes, scents

Urine, enduring

Off the street.

 

Horizon up above:

Sam the dot does smell

A scent of Mutha’s hell

Upstairs,

A floor away.

Full stop, he smells.

(He must get back

To Cyrus the papyrus,

Intrudes the thought.)

Full stop, Sam the dot

Loses what he ought.

It floats away,

Below,

The smell, the street,

The street pissoir too strong.

Above,

The scent of Mutha’s hell, all wrong.