I had lost my key this morning
Got locked out and could not
Remember if I’d forgotten it
Or it just fell out of my wallet
Like a pale autumn leaf
Or a soon to be broken heart
While my right hand rattled the lock in vain,
Every thirty seconds
My left hand went to the wallet
In the back pocket of my jeans
To check on the ticket stub from last Saturday
It is Monday now
The ink on that stub has smudged a little
I wonder if this city contains any locksmiths at midnight
I’m walking the same weary roads
Which now seem daunting strangers
Without the sound of your flip flops grounding me to their concrete
I shake my head
Hoping that the thoughts of your flip flops would trail down the strands of my hair
And fall off
Like dew drops fall from the tips of November grass but
They freeze halfway.
I guess winter has come a bit early this time.
I decide to cut my hair to at least half it’s length
And wonder if the city contains any barbers at midnight
// Palpitations 3/4//
My fingers are shivering as I write
In the afternoon sun about
The cold, dark night
That I’m waiting for
With every burn
That breathing gives to my skin
When I think of the approaching spring.
Rhymes are funny.
They appear out of nowhere like a rare dragonfly
As summer slowly creeps up to winter from behind
And makes it jump
Like a mischievous wretch
My fingers are shivering through the dusk into the night
As I think of the last time I made you jump like that.
You refused to talk to me for hours.
I wonder if the city contains any doctors at midnight
Red Orange Yellow Blue
Touch Press Pierce Drag
I realized that, after all,
The movement from light to dark
Dark to light;
It’s a four step process
From the opening of the scene
To the clink of the dagger as it falls on the floor
As I lie in the kitchen
Bleeding out memories
Colored by the beeping of the oven
I can see that we fade away in the same colors, my memories and I
Red hot iron
A pair of orange scissors
A small vase holding yellow daisies
I wonder if the city mourns at midnight.