Greasy Diesel

Greasy Diesel,

what a terrible smell,

seems to spark some rage

in me, telling everyone to

go to hell.

A billowing cloud of toxic

gas, belching from an exhaust,

billowing across the road,

stinking of sin and oil, gas

and indifference.

The rumbling expulsion of

hot air, signifying abhorrent

contempt for the natural order,

blotting the blue sky with a rottenness

and corruption.

The greasy diesel odor, filling my

nostrils with anger, I hate it. I hate

the air wasted, promises broken,

lies told and slickness of which

I was so easily brushed aside.

The putridness of those greasy diesel

lies, choking the kindness out of me,

the desire for sweetness, tenderness,

love and honesty; hidden in a cloud of

foul smelling disingenuous intent.

A pollution of the winds by a

decomposed heart, incapable of seeing

the damage it wrought to the small parts

of the world inhabited by desire, goodness

and sincerity.

Greasy diesel stink, suffocating good intention,

paving a road to ruin, pitch tarred and buried,

without consideration for the joys on the edges,

the wild flowers arching toward the sun, aching

for their sun dappled kisses.

There is more pollution unseen, than seen,

yet it bears the same smell, a noxious fragrance

of greasy diesel wheel dealings

in the air of the heart and soul,

adding to a foulness I thought was prologue.