In velvet splendor;
meandering, undulating;
to a place where no line runs;
straight;
and no word said;
with grand clarity;
gleaming towers;
they shine;
shimmer;
into shade then shadow;
to a place where form and function;
matter not;
to a place where love and hate;
disease, vitality;
flow free;
and never can the captured see;
never can the captured see;
Dimly lit,
patrons quiet,
assaulted by a Top 40
single that cracked the
top ten, despite
popular opinion-
total shit.
It stirs
voices quiet
yet clear, precise
a decade’s pain
crystallized
Fun?
Disappointing?
Forgotten, really
the stenographer
erases
the night before;
bourbon as
a burning salve
to an open wound
lying deep
where demons dwell
where the mind wishes to forget
Hushed, long silent but now urgent beyond all measure
The past is constructed with large portions excised
A jigsaw puzzle missing the bridge arching over the brook
In the bottom left corner beneath a pale blue sky
The few lines of text give
No meaning within besides that which you feel
Sparkle within your weary heart
She turns to you, and only you
Entering the doorway with her back to a pall
Of a past you did not know
The checkbook slides across the marble table
A pen clicks once,
Twice more, anxiety bubbling
Yes, money
But for what, to whom?
Facing the past, or running away again-
Will this poem describe not one moment but two
Three, more?
Wrinkled brow and a tortured, lingering glance
The pen clicks once more, the checkbook slides away
The sun comes up as a new day dawns
And ushers forth the leaves falling, the nights darkening
A chill that stays long past its welcome
Only tired hope thinks that you’re still
Here
Alive
Was the slow shake of the head merely the
Conductor’s cue for a dirge?
Unspoken Politics 