Writer from Within
The less
I move my lips at my 4:00 am Saturday morning sessions
The more
These words are trees standing still beside a racing river
A long way away
Freight train bores the night
Moon without light
Its alto horn
Projects from nowhere entangles everywhere
Uninhibited
By barren maples and icy roads
Abandoned homes and snowdrifts
A shadow walking his dog under planets of street lights
All powerless against the elk’s forlorn cry
The long sigh reaches me in my living room
Like a rope
Or an armored snake
That takes its slithering life with such mangled ease
Iron bolts
Shackles jolt and shudder to the lumber spindles
I have no name but I am story
Clack clack
Clack clack
Clack clack
I count the halved steps of thunder from the mysterious miles
Waning afar
As the Rolling Stones once sang Love is like our music
It’s here and then it’s gone
I am magician
Make things appear and disappear
Conjure things to move
Erase the past and future with Bastami’s ink baton
I am startled back to life
Perfect quiet
Train absent if it ever was.
Copyright © Robert Trezise Jr. | Year Posted 2024
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