max thrax – 2 poems

CASINO GIRLS

Casino girls
With round faces
Stoop outside
Reflecting the moon

In the gardens
Their scent
On the river
Their laughter

On the boulevard
Crashes a white van
Too late to escape
The wet fingers
And skirts

Of casino girls
In the gardens
Reflecting the moon

Over dingy suburban roofs
Far away
From the boulevard



THE LACHINE CANAL

First lock
Spawns a factory

Second
Brings the bogmen

Third
A street machine

The others follow
(Blood finds its own level)

Once it was thought
The Lachine Canal swallowed
The Port of Montreal

Those who argued 
First brushed out
Their left nostrils



MAX THRAX is managing editor of Apocalypse Confidential. His novel God is a Killer is available from Close to the Bone. Find him at www.maxthrax.com or @ThraxMaximilian on Twitter. 



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