Sunday, February 15, 2009

the last argument

you dump your thoughts in a puddle
on the front stoop 
to vomit poetry all over the sidewalk--
all over the front lawn

discreetly using your skirt to clean up the mess

incident retrieved from memory where
we accidently touched 
for a moment -- or two

before dashing headlong into oncoming traffic

gone now--
not even our shadows dancing 
in the noonday sun
to keep me company 

only the stained planks of wood 
stretching across the warped framed porch
the grain running long ways
broken only by creeping-in plant life

a dark wet world residing underneath

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