Pounding the Door Into Gray, by James De Crescentis, 2015


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The Shift


I walk up and down the halls of the ward and see a two-tone paint job clogging my lungs, which hoard all pollutants like back room meetings, terrible colors walking the straight line around a bend of ladders on fire, even the paintbrush loses direction. I do this long walk because the zombie wants some shuffle.


from Pounding the Door into Gray, poems by James De Crescentis, Igneus Press, Canyon, TX, 2015, p.8.