Sunday, February 26, 2012


I keep trying to convince myself to post some fiction somewhere, as feedback is how one gets better, but somehow I just can't make myself do it.  So some more poetry it is.


the bicycle hummed solitude
like songbirds,
sliding down streets
like sheets against
bare skin,
alone in the reflections
in dark store windows
next to the artificial moons
of broken orange streetlights,
from the steaming pavement
into the sky-
like secrets whispered
upward on a summer night
lit with fireflies
and stars.
solitude the silence
of a crowed city-
the rumble of engines
and honking horns
eat birds
and their songs-
asphalt and exhaust
stealing the souls
that feed on songs,
and starlight.
they are
starved by light-
pollution and
children fit into molds
reliant on
scolds and should-bes
to create
what has already been made.
the hum of bicycle tires
the only
reflections the only self
with a soul.

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