|
| |
A perfect triangle pretending to be right
A perfect triangle
As he stood in the shadow
Of the dead eye windows of his home
His face alway up
Stars or cries of cloud
his theatre
The sounds that based from his neon lit blue ears
He tugged at some oversized hood
Like a monk struggling to damper the candles for nighttimes prayers
Answered with a monotone of shadows nod
The passing friend fed a gentle wave
You ever want to say to someone
Can you please stop this conversation before one of us dies -nothing to do with poem but I share
Unsure where shadow says
Sometimes his profile
glimpsed in the orange
of his cigarette
Spelling candy in
Only two leters
t get back up there
Sometimes caught him tapping his feet
against the wall
Lost in the sound of his garbled favourite sounds
I try not be surreal so the reals think I am real
Rain splatter dropping seemingly in time
To his hooded droo
………………….,.,…ping nod
matching its scratching tempo
His breath hesitant on the ice that paraded as the wind
imagining we are only ones that imagine
Above us only sky
I always just looked out
No moonlight only more sun
Does that mean every song lied
More sunlight serenade doesn’t quite hit the
Mark unalived in car accident
Left quite a
To Mark everyone
Last funeral I was ever asked to talk at
Coincidence why what’s
Copyright ©
Christopher Quigley
|
|