DIMINUTION
On a tree
by a narrow
street
upon an
bending bough
I perch in a
dream
unseen
over people
in a field
hovering
about
an empty hole
obstructed by
a box
with contents
of what use
to be me.
Some are
sobbing,
most are
somber
and few hide
a reluctant
obligatory glint.
All see the
hyphen
between
random dates
engraved upon
granite,
transform my
toil
to a trophy
abbreviation
for living.
A DEPICTION OF LOVE LOST
He could
only recall her first name,
and
did not remember
exactly
when and how
they
met, but the memory
of
her presence
floated
in his brain
like
a recurring dream,
except
she wasn’t a dream.
Daytime
law intern,
nighttime
model,
lecture
halls,
and
alluring moves
on
various catwalks
in
different cities,
she
led a flamboyant,
exciting
existence,
like
a rainbow
arresting
the sky
following
a tumultuous storm,
and
then she disappeared.
Many
years passed the row
of
numerical stations
until
he saw a picture
in
yellowed newspaper
buried
in the attic
and
his brain screamed
acknowledgement.
Anxious
as he was,
the
rainbow did not sparkle
in
the setting sky that day,
nor
any of the following,
behind
the rails of the stop
time
had long ago abandoned.
THE CORNER PUB
Sometimes, upon a discontented day,
I take a walk around midnight
to the corner pub,
stopping in front of the unlocked door
to view the dim light
that illuminates the bar,
a single subdued bulb,
reflecting off the mirrors behind,
light like a hobo might see
at the end of a train tunnel
from the vantage
of an open
cargo car.
Dirty aprons hang in the corner
upon a rack, smeared with
beverage and booze in lines
that resemble a treasure map,
treasures of forgetting and
a sympathetic ear.
The glass bottles sparkle
as if placed upon an altar
where, once the confessions begin,
those inflicted begin to heal.
There is a wooden stool,
now polished, still empty,
where my heart bled upon its grain
a fortnight ago
as the barkeep listened,
where after enough drinks,
I’ll mostly likely again
pour my troubles into
one of his glasses.
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