POETRY ATTIC: Overstayed & Crucifixion Eve

// Photography: Jeff Wolfe //

OVERSTAYED

Torn inside like the page
of your loveliest letter.
Twilight fools demand so much.
Three days of no sleep
powder induced thoughts.
We are all synthesized
beings, bouncing off walls.
Erotic thoughts stuff city streets,
fed off high air rush.
Masquerade in bedlam
reputations can front
endless lunar night.
Music speaks a language of secrets,
faces unfold.
Subverted the devil
w/ a dance –
follow a dark horse.
Wallow, to find myself cross-addicted.
Run as fast as speed can be.
On new shoes, the ground
is light w/ a clean slate.
Watch lives fly by
as I pass bedroom windows.
A series of straight lines
wander damp pavement.
When the rain is clear
the quiet beams a personal sigh,
sound reflects eternal.
Bits of stone under feet scrape
gravel into cracks.
So damn quiet.
Every house in a lonely line…
Someone might peak from windows
to see a slow lane walker.
Lines force thoughts to push past
tall overbearing trees.
City of nowhere special.
Distraught yearn to run.
Autos make escape possible.
Desperation and hope
on drunk starry nights.
Sounds/noise/commotion
I’ve stayed too long.

CRUCIFIXION EVE
Walk into market alone
to examine expensive bottles
overhead light, shines, radiates
my little movie to move in
does anyone watch the stage?
The best way to see strange faces
is to remain silent
eyes to pierce their emptiness
every cheap phrase is hollow
– no you can not help me
Chores of the old and the innocent
face down in the grave
wouldn’t it be nice if flames
could come up from the floor?
Of all the foolish compliance
the hidden crevice of filth hides
bitter laughter, this forced family’s recreation
Dart around aimless
make sense of the purpose
of busy walkers
is there happiness within
the billfolds or is it
spent in despair?
Silly fucking cash machine noise
causes a giddy release
it’s so easy to train a hamster
brood in the aisle ways
as a shadow companion can
gift-givers imagine their soul
looking, looking behind the glass
no one wonders about my empty pockets
helpers march us through
I remember what it was like
to be comfortable
with somewhere to go
a long block of nothing up ahead
It’s someone else’s birthday
it’s someone else’s wedding
no more room for strangers
sit next to other nonentities
away from the sun
only those w/ life can take it in
Find a mind to crawl in
some back alley where the waste goes
there’s a crime to partner with
masks are stored there
next to the clock to punch in
how old was she when she edged that doorway?
Before he died and went away
now it’s her duty to earn a wage
of forgetfulness
All these clumsy whims
to suppress, a daily coffee
helps to keep this uniform warm
make notes as you go
of all the ones that look alike
when a child comes by
it’s obvious there is a game
no one seems to like their chances
lets get old now, to have a darling to whisper to
Quickly count down minutes into night
there is a different place
to be recognized all at once
and welcomed back to stay
won’t be long to migrate
but like any dream
an exit is elusive
doomed to circle the
same square blocks
The sale has just begun

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