Poem: Waiting

 

Waiting

 

geyers of lumens

spill over a furlong of darkness,

cast from two golden chalices,

both of them brimmed 

by a pulse of drowned bass notes.

 

the harsh spectacle

finds my alabaster face,

cheeks pale in the bright of the onslaught.

 all at once, somehow, it seems,

i am more important

than all the orbits

of star and astrology

above this immediate, lavish glow.

 

does some herald seek me out?

am i spectral and so do they think

i know the path to god,

some tortuous journey

best kept secret with the dead?

 

but no door opens for me.

the growling glow

and its thumping speakers,

so many luminous squiggles

on the dashboard,

 

moves on.

 

and i can’t help but think

this is as close as i’ll ever get

to sprouting wings--

that if i sat inside

such a glowing chariot

wind would gallop across my face.

 

 

 

 

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3/5/25 .. changed a word

3/2/25 ... mods