I never knew what to fill the spaces with
Sometimes I didn't even see them
They were disguised under many coats
With hidden pockets of shallowness
And oversized buttons to mismatched holes.
It didn't matter most of the time
Because the tailor never stopped sewing more
And I was content to let them lie
Beneath the growing pile of tweed
And gaberdine and wrinkled linen
Kind fabrics who wrapped them up
And kept them warm and unprepared
But as time went on and more people
Left the party, the pile of coats
Gradually disappeared and the tailor
couldn't keep up the pace of making
The spaces could be easily filled at first
With dreams, with passion, with sorrow,
With the wrap of a Cherub's leg in bed,
With the carefree knowing there'd be time
To butter them with tears or laughter
Or use their emptiness for meditation
But in the spaces that are left
A greater contemplation is required
It is necessary for them to be filled
With greater aspiration which in itself
Brings further sorrow for deep within them
Is the simple indication
That I will not have enough time
To fill them all.
© Allen Ansell 2025
Cruising the hardened streets,
Inhaling the bouquet
Of lively, wicked San Francisco,
Where chicks in heels
Somehow reveal,
An eloquent, famished soul,
Tending to knights,
On shiny pretty nights,
Cloaked in their fabulous
Gaberdine impressions,
Longing to seek acceptance
From ravenous forces,
Among the supple horde,
With few examples,
Ones rich in forsaken noble urges,
Change the world,
By simple stroking,
New rules invoking
A daring type of protocol,
Measured in leaps and mounds,
Severed from frenzied, mangled morals,
The kind you like to chew,
And spit out,
In order to salvage,
Your sense of decency,
You claim resiliency,
And return this fresh-flavored tab
To its rightful owner,
Juice seeping,
Remotely flowing into gaps
Which never intend to heal,
Let alone stop,
For closure means
The end of languid trepidation,
Edges clear themselves
Of thorny, pointless brush,
Seeking conflagration,
From any ignition
Willing to play the part,
And we sit, knowing,
That classy, shiny edifices
Like to devour
Our sense of wanting more,
Not for ourselves,
But for everyone,
And everything
That truly matters.
(8/3/04)