Indian Summer poems

I haven't written any poetry in a long while. This is some stuff I started working on recently.


This is the first part of what will be a collection of short-short poems:

The Indian Summer I Wandered

1.
sticky, massive October night,
mosquitoes reawakened, rising
like carbonation, their blooming
limbs made of nothing more than
false hope


The next is a poem that was going to be the second part, but I decided to make it a stand-alone poem:


midnight driving barefoot,


rolling my own windows, wrestling
with a cardigan, there's a rambling radio speaking of stock market crash,

and I picture it like a spacecraft full of angels shuddering right
down into earth, the angels coughing up out of the wreckage,

only bruised, no broken bones, because they're angels and angels
don't have bones, and they're wondering why the hell

it had to be this sorry planet they crash-landed on, I share with Jeremy
my Stock Market Vision, he tells me to stop being such an eccentric

twat, I turn the station to funk, throw on a scarf, switch off the light
inside my mouth