Four Short Poems

by Michael Prihoda

tenements

what unmatched
nightmares
Le Corbusier

might acquire 

upon entering
these empty
tenements

 

no retreat

the sky broke
like a book opening to page 1
and I read the day
like tea leaves
in the evaporating dregs
of a pitchy howling night
while the orchestral colors
swooped and locked their
claws on the horizon,
unwilling to retreat

 

too much?

the facial features of a wall socket
sexual overtones in the bedroom

who has seen too much?

 

permission

is
the
$31.50
monthly
phone bill
my permission to live?

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