Friday, January 11, 2008

Scarlet Road

Ugh, long night... here we go, then.

Scarlet Road

scarlet road,
I walk yr path,
my face the color
of yr concrete.

clean hands crammed
into empty pockets,
the note left
on my desk

placed last night
in dark wire trash bin,
folded neatly
along worn creases,

read, absorbed through
fingertips until
ink conveyed
meaning into

no need for memento
along crimson course,
just west into blinding sun

and welcome sign,
burned words upon
horizon, simply—
Not Here.


Carolyn said...

Mm, the parts with the hands and fingertips strike me especially. I like this. Is the "yr" critical to what you're trying to convey? It's a bit distracting to me.