Cracked concrete and lichen. Red rust runs and moss.
The air thick with diesel sweat and propane.
My heart pounds in time with the machines.
The furnace roars vomiting
Flames and fireflies of molten glass.
But today, only
The sunlight shatters
Into broken shards. The breeze
Spring sweet with a hint of rain
Whispers through the flaking girders.
They say ghosts live in rust.
This memory
Like the smell of perfume in an
Empty room,
Like your first car,
Neither created or destroyed
Only transformed.
This junkyard is where dreams dissolve

Mark Barill is represented by DV8 Gallery 208 South Pennsylvania Avenue Greensburg, Pennsylvania 15601 (724) 219-0804