Glass Poetry Press

Volume Two Issue One

Anastasia Clark

Epitaphs in the Alley

We traded epitaphs In a back alley Near the stolen tracks And we made A fire pit there With our dirty coats And moldy hats And watched it rise In a sultry mist Of lime green hate And red hot love — And we blew bubbles With our purple tongues And champagne lips And prayed a Hundred sonnets there On a secret bench In a long-dead alley And finally — We saw the stars.