Only a Band-Aid away from What, I do…
from What I say!
Miller Creation/D. Lange
Running with the Jones’s…living in the fray.
A stranger to me, she seemed to have moved a full house…
in the middle of a full moon night…
with only distant light to display her plight.
Way out on a savagely grown heritage trail…
My suspicious mind nothing but a broken arrow.
I am a display all my own.
Self-centered and sharp…meant to implode and impale.
Four wheels filled to the brim.
Greetings were exchanged.
Both of us portrayed discomfort, as though it were…a late summer’s whim.
My stranger packed all nuances away…
As if it were just another day.
My despair traveled with me, another quarter of mile.
In the end,
turning all attention to me…
I had lost my stranger some how.
Useless, this conversation, shrouded in mimed opinion.
Impaled words imposed by a right foot wishing to get ahead of itself.
Impoverished by motion held in fields of yonder and lore.
I could take each step with,
‘Do not go.’
Pray, to acquaintances,
‘You have not seen. What I have come to know.’
I get ahead of myself.
Stumbling into shafts of dimly lit mistakes.
rolling about in wooded carnage.
Illogically, pressing the accelerator.
Not the brakes.
Sometimes a brief visit is needed.
To places not with warrant… but insist on being remembered.
This cowardliness, tour, knows not of relationships…May or December.
Like so many before…
It is easy to have forgotten the front door.
Clutter, shutter, trashy and gutter.
A place to go…when you realize you have not gone that far.
Where the ruts have become gaping divides.
A broken erected challis…providing not place to hide.
Thus, a kinship to all things left unfinished.
Prisoner to what could have been.
Nothing to be seen…in the midst of ruin…but buyer’s remorse.
Gutted from the inside out, as a matter of course.