To Sam and Dave
Poignant by proxy, it seemed,
as I saw myself on a slow slide,
denying all disastrous days,
now nameless without content
other than the haunting reminiscence,
a song, a word and a faded place
so full of adolescent aspiration
and a longing that is almost tangible.
Yes, yes, I can see it all, even your face
as you lean over to whisper
the price of heavily pressed charcoal
with your most secretive voice.
Once upon a lost summer night,
my back against the tilted roof,
I perforated the starry sky
with pure madness to the sight
of an erratic light spinning
way out of control.
All it takes is a song.
Poetry by Bob
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Written on 2009-02-27 at 20:51
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Phyllis J. Rhodes |
Editorial Team |
Brian Oarr |
Texts |
by Bob Latest textsI seldom walkthere’s a rumor there will be no full stop so many regrets who am I |
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