little bombs

from the 22nd floor, walking down the corridor, looking out the picture window down, on sycamore, while perspective lines converge, rows of cars and buses merge, all the sweet green trees of atlanta burst, like little bombs, or little pom-poms, shaken by a careless hand, that drives them off, and leaves again, life just kind of empties out, less a deluge than a drought, less a giant mushroom cloud, than an unexploded shell, inside a cell, of the lennox hotel, on the 22nd floor, found a notice on my door, while outside, the sun is shining on, those little bombs, those little pom-poms, life just kind of empties out, less a deluge than a drought, less a giant mushroom cloud, than an unexploded shell, inside a cell, of the lennox hotel, inside a cell, of the lennox hotel, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, inside a cell, of the lennox hotel, inside a cell, of the lennox hotel