Nightscape
On your skin
A color like purple
It thighs and glides across surfaces
A woman is thrown into the pool of a taxi
There is night and then there is city
Each thing defines itself against the void of space
Your eyes are glares
The streetlight blinks yellow banishing color
Mono
A wish to be the reflection in your sweat
The smell of garbage
A rat across your foot
Uber and crash
Your teeth are violet
Showing posts with label city. Show all posts
Showing posts with label city. Show all posts
16 December 2016
Poem-A-Day #290 : Nightscape
Labels:
2016,
autumn,
bars,
city,
color,
December,
drunk,
eyes,
friends,
light,
memory,
night,
night out,
poem,
poem-a-day 2.0,
poetry,
reflection,
taxi,
travel
21 May 2016
Poem-A-Day #82 : There Is
There Is
The rapid transit of us into us
there is a word for it :
The trees are :
They point their tiny fists of spring
they have opened their fingers have gone yellow
then turn toward chlorophyll :
If it goes quick then let that go
the word is is :
Pose the mannequin like it is a painter
staring into a mirror
painting a self-portrait :
Trumpets blare and they are only car horns :
The public transport of us engages the turn lane
there is a word that is is and is not :
We are searching for prose like Gershwin
that conveys a man carrying packages on a busy Thursday
on a Manhattan street :
Dropping seeds like ribbons :
Windsocks popping brass :
Is not the word also rapid in its sphere :
The rapid transit of us into us
there is a word for it :
The trees are :
They point their tiny fists of spring
they have opened their fingers have gone yellow
then turn toward chlorophyll :
If it goes quick then let that go
the word is is :
Pose the mannequin like it is a painter
staring into a mirror
painting a self-portrait :
Trumpets blare and they are only car horns :
The public transport of us engages the turn lane
there is a word that is is and is not :
We are searching for prose like Gershwin
that conveys a man carrying packages on a busy Thursday
on a Manhattan street :
Dropping seeds like ribbons :
Windsocks popping brass :
Is not the word also rapid in its sphere :
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