Sitting Near On Drifting Air

A poem of disturbing images and sensations that have visited me.

"Sitting Near On Drifting Air"

The sight, charcoal ash and dying branch inside a carboard box,
Sitting near.
The smell, old boots and fresh meats,
On drifting air.
The feel, scratchy briar and cuts from razor wire,
Grating on the arms legs neck back.
The taste, sweet almond cyanide mixed with strychnine,
Burning the palette.
The sound, mad gibberish and voices of dissent amplified,
Coming from I know not where, but somewhere here.

-end-