CROOKED WINDOWS By Brian Morrisey

 

A Sandburg poem
Scotch-taped
cast through a crooked window
house on a hill
sunlight shone in
halos trembling hands
clutching a can of cheap beer
there’s a sway of contention
in the stillness of dawn.

Symptoms of purpose
beg a forgiving poem
to snapshot still life
past when wild was
concrete affection
triggering city lights
cast through a crooked window.
past when wild was
an empty bottle of cheap wine
rolled across a coffee-house floor
hollow echoes reverberated a poem
cast through a crooked window

past when wild was
wet ink smeared on the face
naked balanced
one foot on the soapbox
other tripping
self-portrait reflections
cast through a crooked window.

Day-dream nostalgia
sweating on the pillowcase
in these quiet hours
escape insomnia
driven wild
down the old dirt road
back to the rush of traffic
humming a familiar song.

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