Lamplight pollinates sidewalks
in our tepid little village.
The late summer dusk’s a furnace
gorging on our smelted egos.
in our tepid little village.
The late summer dusk’s a furnace
gorging on our smelted egos.
We walk deliberately, testing
our balance against the great
sin of gravity. Soon the chords
of organ practice will tremble
our balance against the great
sin of gravity. Soon the chords
of organ practice will tremble
from the wooden Methodist church
where people fondle their conscience
every Sunday at ten o-clock.
We walk to set an example
where people fondle their conscience
every Sunday at ten o-clock.
We walk to set an example
but traffic growls past on grease
with an occasional hand wave
and glimpse of a face of yearning.
Too bad we don’t live by the sea
with an occasional hand wave
and glimpse of a face of yearning.
Too bad we don’t live by the sea
where cruciform gulls dominate.
We walk over the bridge from which
certain exhausted bodies fall
and enter a diner about to close.
We walk over the bridge from which
certain exhausted bodies fall
and enter a diner about to close.
The blaze of its steel interior
confirms that we’re still ourselves
and each other, the local haunting
too flimsy and shy to succeed.
confirms that we’re still ourselves
and each other, the local haunting
too flimsy and shy to succeed.
