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
bloodstream.
no need for memento
along crimson course,
just west into blinding sun
and welcome sign,
burned words upon
horizon, simply—
Not Here.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Scarlet Road
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1 comments:
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.
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