Little Bombs

From the twenty second floor

Walking down the corridor

Looking out the picture window down

On Sycamore

While perspective lines converge

Rows of cars and buses merge

All the sweet green trees of Atlanta burst

Like little bombs

Or little pom-poms

Shaken by a careless hand

That drives them off

And leaves again

Life just kind of empties out

Less a deluge than a drought

Less a giant mushroom cloud

Than an unexploded shell

Inside a cell

Of the Lennox Hotel

On the twenty second floor

Found a notice on my door

While outside, the sun is shining on

Those little bombs

Those little pom-poms

Life just kind of empties out

Less a deluge than a drought

Less a giant mushroom cloud

Than an unexploded shell

Inside a cell

Of the Lennox Hotel

Inside a cell

Of the Lennox Hotel

Inside a cell

Of the Lennox Hotel

Inside a cell

Of the Lennox Hotel