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photo/image/art by William H Mortensen ©
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lonely indicator lights, alarms
and the wind
she said her engine needs servicing
no kidding I thought, servicing, servicing, servicing
play cards placate placard vacate gyrate pulsate velvet
pellet bandstands
to dance halls she channels
what can be filled and filed, a slow fingered nailed
a found by way of thinning yourself a shelf
going along with the setting Moon
she is what I have to get done
when caught by sirens pining
for even faux
rhetoric
and tonal inequalities
I might add,
I subtract nothing
from being a running pedestrian
and this peddled shaved
square corner deal…
she’s still sleeping…
I’m outside smoking,
pondering moonlight and
a seemingly never ending winter,
still gripping tight to ghost March-April this year
she
said our needs often strip wanting
into surviving with internal terrors
we are
prone to praying
to being what asps prey
to explaining the way rain hypnotizes
indicating why every lonely is another poem…
EJR ©
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