Friday, March 8, 2013

Notes

Your coal burning contrite in my lint pocket
There is something about a cloudy day
missing your sunny perfection
There's a state of assurance as the crowd closes in
The rickety trambone of the homeless man asks me for  change
I am reminded that you are their, waiting
I am here on this street freezing under this cover of winter

Waiting to be saved.
Clever magazine adds don't tell me a thing at midnight

as I change my jeans I am alone instead

 and the jazz music never changes
So I wait for the dawn, Ever coming
Ever promising.
But the message is blank and you left a scar on my leg.

1 comment:

  1. hey you....good to see you...interesting snippets of imagery in this...the separation...outside and in....the scar left...the mags...the jazz...it all kinda swirls together but comes out well...smiles.

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