Something the blue teenager sold you left you high and dry, priceless, with the evil of forgotten meals. and your handcrafted tattoo. A thing that amounts to ceaseless rain by sleight of hand, the blue teenager sold you something: a cause for wonder, a good luck charm, as you loitered in the hall pursued your thunder behind whitewashed walls All the while, your mouth brays about your daily routine, scores long settled matters finished best part of a tired disguise. You've said very little, since you think every area is same as mine a lush park expanse the neon pizza sign. I gauge your walk, you march behind me, it's a pacer's gait learned many years ago. Something the blue teenager sold you in an everlovin' silent night a music from breath in sighs. Your wick burns still, your flame tells me you wrote those books to feed the Machine. Merciless, you're entombed, in your waking fate; you weep at length. He put a crease in your head sold you all you ever knew in the way of destiny. A pair of sticks, crossed, glow on the exit door an aggravation, and what's more, what the dial light says illuminated green shadow of a last dialing an unknown number found on the wall.
About the Poet:
Michael Igoe. Numerous works in journals online and print. Recent: Avalanches In Poetry Anthology Spare Change(Boston). National Library Of Poetry Editors Choice Award 1997. Twitter: MichaelIgoe5. Urban Realism, Surrealism. I like the Night.
This poem was previously published in dreamnoir.art.
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