I want the carnage
of a conversation
the curses and dark tales-
the woods-winding weeping willows
its dirt path, dredging up a memory
footsteps telling of follies and flings
nights when the streetlights twinkle-
the a.m.- tears and treasures
tied up in love, lost
a million Marches ago
aging-high on a shelf-
locked up with the key thrown
down, down the drain
down through the sewers
into the open sea, only
to be swept up onto the shore
sitting among the seashells-and two years later,
sifting through the sand
toes curled, curled around a key
slid in a pocket
and once again
the doors are wide open
No comments:
Post a Comment