Vacant furloughed foundries
Corpses of great industry
Among Victorian tree-
Houses and towers concrete
Endless suburban expanse
And mirror dwellings line-dance
From one another they stand
Only ten feet in distance
Together they shut windows
As November carries snow
Home is where the heart will grow
Weary-strong of winter’s throes
Rusted, hardened, drinking folk
Have long outlasted the cold
A man come from Buffalo,
Or, the truest soul you know
Published by boriscanzano
Hello! My name's Boris. I'm a writer, chef, musician and Italian-American. I like to write just about anything creative--poetry, prose, songs, jokes, scenes and whatever else I need to. Stop reading now.
Fine. Words and food have both been lifelong interests. By the time I was five I was off the kids' menu. In middle school I won an award for being the best at grammar. I won the spelling bee as well, just so you know.
Please check out my website that you are on right now. A little bit of it is serious, some of it tastes good and some of it is just practice. There's a lot more writing stuff I can show you but you have to ask really nice.
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