contemporary, has never been my favorite poetry, however ive given - TopicsExpress



          

contemporary, has never been my favorite poetry, however ive given it a go, from a poetry exercise of a picture of someone looking out a window at night at nightlife going bye the window. Sitting at the round table circumnavigating the spoon of trance its pilot the sleep zombie, soul-stirring with the chink, looking deeper than the weave of the cotton check pattern, my time my space with just simply no hast, lost from my bed found amnesia towards the approaching day, insomnia in the long night with the flickering of neonlight; café without the E after every fourth attempt of the starter, trying to encourage the krypton to heat, avid for each endeavor with the complementation of the full word, reflecting out from the Georgian window, its twin reflecting up from the street walk, wet with dew on slabs, then my only accomplice sharing the warmth, rattling the door on her way out, grossing the quite street, waiting for the approaching footsteps of late timing rendezvous, then my imagination run unruly, what why where when unable to say just no to; this my running mind. The knowledge of fact unimportant too ones depth of imagination, leading on wildly. They now linked arms around each, walking into nights abyss, where my mind tried to reach, there dark silhouettes, only the white of her shoes creating the semblance of remaining tone, the street corner vacuum from the void of movement, leaving my resource still vastly active, the car that slowed to a halt across streets, when the woman in the dress that looked the depth of a belt, Alighted from the front seat, legs akimbo to disregard concern that my eyes could not. Thanking her driver with her bowed kiss, perhaps never to be seen again, or was he her regular, the question undefined only my coffee cup empty in definition and my request for Gastropods on a plate now arriving with the French accent breaking into english your order, my reply thank you Monsieur leaving it at the table as my eyes flickered from the outside to in and then back again, the frame of loss an irritated frustration, what would be the next seen on the street corner backdrop, on a night of intrusion by my imagination, this long night still the tease of anticipation. Steve James
Posted on: Wed, 20 Nov 2013 17:18:45 +0000

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