Poetry

Gray Area

You stay strangely vacant
from the grey matter these days.
Why, it was a traveler–a vagrant–
who saw you
so that they could relay
it to the rest of us.
Eyes, so to speak, who composed
music of the loveliest girl
in the world.
Translated it too. Translated it
for all the senses, for all the muscles,
the blood, the bones.
Why did they look to you
when they can just get by?
I could get you off my mind
but the vacancy
seldom lasts.

Poetry

Anywhere but here

Oh, how I’d love to be

Anywhere but here

With the thick and heavy snow

Underfoot and overhead

The awful noise of

Daytime television and

Smartphone games

Ringing and jingling

With low mutters of vilany

And the stale smell of

Cigarette smoke attacking

The senses

 

Oh, how I’d love to be anywhere

But here

And a day closer

To you.