I Hear the Bells Sound

I hear the bells sound,

Big and black and hollow,

Lost inside the buried spaces,

Between you and between me,

Cold wet teeth suck on my heart,

Soft crone fingers pull out my blood,

My nerves, without a mouth, they scream.

© G.R. Yeates 2010

Dead Trees and Quiet Alleys

I would not live here,
If I could,
I would live elsewhere,
In quiet alleys,
Lit by the underglow,
Of dying streetlamps,
Burnt sodium trees,
The cries of cold children,
Black static air,
An old man's bones,
Scattered,
Some here, Some there,
No, I would not live here,
When I could be dead there.

© G.R. Yeates 2010