Amber and bitter
Five o’clock come down
Haven’t been up yet
The thoughts strangle themselves
Umbilical cord nooses
Throttling everything
Decorating the trees indecorously
With still born poems.

Time is a lungful of smoke
The flavor of mortality
Tastes of heated tin
Dull metallic
Dragging upon the dregs
Fumbling for anything
That doesn’t sound
Like the last song you heard.

Broom handle dance partner
She’s swaying with the breeze
Light lithe limbed
Scattering the dreams about her feet
I could watch this elegant sadness for hours
Wondering if the gleam of sweat
At the base of her neck
Would taste of something other than regret.

One Response to “Amber”

  1. toobeers Says:

    waiting is always rewarded around this place
    newly active
    halting steps becoming more confident

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