I am filled up with this town, as

smoldering fires are beating at the brick

black as day, yet

the color of trying to reminisce is

a  startling white.

you see an abandoned lot where the restaurant burned down without notice (because that’s such a mystery)

and the weeds grow from the cracks in quilts

thundering each time  a new inkling moves a nano meter, and

like muck weed,

dirty flowers stare at my knees.

on the other side of town,

some no-do-good-er has just carved the name


into the naked fiber board

of a broken basketball hoop

while stowing away in an old truck junker,

forgetting he was never being seen.

(now, take this daisy, and

you try to carve Susanah there.)

It’ll serve you good to know that

I’ve seen  worse luck

than  a broken flower petal

begging a stray knife

to stop cutting at the stem.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry


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