Poem: Lone

 

Lone

 

day

of the organized screen-bred structure.

all is known.  

every fidget of muscle and thought in place.

 

night

of the chimerical panther,

loping free to shatter consequence,

hot on the tail of a moon-jeweled bird. 

 

day,

the screen reflects the head of a ghost,

who pretends to have empathy

as it speaks into a mic

over a grave-shaped chest.

 

night,

flesh cries the wettest of tears,

which leave no dampness,

waking to buck in day's sudden rush.

 

across the room

in the patience of a lone mirror,

little to see.

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11/17/24 ... changed a word