Non-Erotic PoetryAt the MallAsh falls, smoke rises from my cigarette.
I wait for the shopping to be finished,
passing the time watching the crowds go by,
children, lovers, popular waves surge, ebb.
I wait for the shopping to be finished,
a ghost among the marketing hubbub.
Children, lovers, popular waves surge, ebb--
splashing my bench with their manic fervor.
A ghost among the marketing hubbub,
silent as still photography, I see them all
splashing my bench with their manic fervor
trying to draw me in, but I keep back.
Silent as still photography, I see them all.
Passing the time watching the crowds go by
trying to draw me in, but I keep back;
ash falls, smoke rises from my cigarette.
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