Their Well-Worn Groove

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The window was open
So she climbed in
He awaited her in the dark
You look different, he said
You feel the same, she said
Long shadows from the moon sliver
Led them to their common ground
Where they could begin
Again and again
With velvet touches
Whispers matching the sultry night
This is one time softness is a gift
When the shell is allowed to crack
Without fear of any future
But fear of everything else at bay
Now is not the time for thought
No conversation needed
The needle sinks into the record’s groove
And they’re played
Again and again
Too soon she’s walking down the hill
While he watches from the window
Their song will play another day
They will ride the well-worn groove
Again and again.

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The Course of Conversation

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Well said, well met
There was nothing to be added
The conversation was over

The course had been meandering
Through thickets of metaphors
Libelous, lofty, libidinous

Surprises had been welcome
Except when it was too close to home
Then it rankled

Timid to start
Tsunami in the middle
Awe at the end

Every nook and cranny visited
Nightmares revealed
Hopes unearthed

Too bad
Nowhere else to go
Hang up, it’s over

Urban Purgatory

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I’ve been driving for what feels like days
Turning onto one wrong road after another
The buildings get taller and closer as I seem to be headed to a forgotten part of the city
Oily gloom
Dank recesses
Mysteries seep through the cracks of the condemned
But there are no souls to be found
Are they there but I can’t see?
Have they been lost to the fog
Or is this place deserted
An urban purgatory
Filled with rubble and trash

I slow but am not brave enough to stop
The one-ways seem to lead me astray
The signals are crisscrossing each other
Confusion reigns
There’s no one to ask direction
I have no inner compass
There is no path not not taken
The streets have been whored out with signs and graffiti
How will I even know when I get to my destination
It all looks the same
Crumbling castles
In a desolate city ruin.

Tainted Joy

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Driving the quiet old highway
Just after dawn
Cresting the curve
Blackbirds rise from the field
Joining others from memory
Flashes come quickly
The first flutter in the womb
The agonizing tearing away
The hollow loss
Empty hands aching
To hold the little one
Now just a figment
Try to hold onto the wheel
As the car careens toward pastures
Lush with life
The tainted joy still remains
Somewhere deep within
The hope of a future
A chance at redemption
In one little perfect smile
Now wiped away
And no one remembers anymore
Except an empty womb
That still feels the flutters
Gone too soon
On the other side of that hill
On that old highway
As the sun peeks over the hills

Tell Me Our Story

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It’s been too long since I’ve asked anyone to tell me a story
Will it always be thus?
Every word you utter, I blindly see as an answer
Each time you glance my way, I feel all is well in my world
My breath stays caught in my throat
I await a sign you’re paying attention
My hands clench to keep from wringing with anticipation
You speak and I hear water rushing to smooth rough stones
You smile and I swear I could die of joy in that moment

How will you ever know how close I was to my end
Are there any combinations of words I could make
To make you see the cubist portrait of my psyche
And how I have turned cozy impressionist

Tell me anything you want
I will listen to stories, stats, swearing
Anything but stillness
Tell me truths or lies or wishes
I just want to hear your voice
As you wear me down and polish me
My own ideas pushed aside awhile can’t hurt
That’s when the big waves come
And tell their own endings to our story