Poem: Waiting

 

Waiting

 

geyers of lumens

spill over a furlong of darkness,

cast from two golden chalices,

both of them brimmed 

with a heartbeat of drowned bass notes.

 

the harsh spectacle

finds my alabaster face,

cheekbones pale in the bright onslaught.

somehow, it seems, all at once,

i am more important

than all the orbits

of star and astrology

above this lavish glow.

 

does some herald seek me out?

do they think i’m spectral

and so i know the path to god,

a 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.

 

i can’t help but think

this was as close as i’ll ever get

to sprouting wings--

that if i sat inside

and lowered a window,

wind would gallop across my face.

 

 

 

 

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3/5/25 .. changed a word

3/2/25 ... mods