I drive alone;
The city sky like carbon paper,
Crumpled clouds with periods of moonlight—
Bone white in peephole after peephole;
Steam jutting up through manhole fissures,
Rising in fringes of darkness.
My hands on the steering-wheel turning down
Street after street— navigating past the labyrinth
Of thugs, eager for a knifing,
Police batons enforcing their law on it, like handcuffs;
Brutality shatters the night and makes us real.
How long can I search, keeping the loneliness off?
How long will I be alone,
Pulling down the visor on my emotions,
Intercepting the dead shadows from a cold moon.
On the radio, voices of the lonely in sorrow
Lapping up my thoughts;
It hardens me, like a dead lullaby.
There she stood without any hope
Beneath a street lamps dwindling light;
Through a whim of mine, I asked her, what is your name?
She got in, vivid at my side—
She poured out her life like cheap whiskey,
I drank it just the same.
A long ride, an accident scene—
Police lanterns doling out light here and there;
I leaned over, her door was ajar,
My emotions flowed over me with a screaming ache of pain;
I was numb in a silence,
How frail the human heart.
Copyright © 03/27/2019 lance sheridan®