Nocturnal Ambivalence

02/22/08


The shot that rang out

    as the limp body slumped to the bloody floor—           Bang.
The neighborhood that muttered near the white picket fences
    of their boorish homes;
The monochromatic crimson, the yellow tape,
    the dreary 5 a.m. drones;
The Mrs. Jones that groaned of everlasting sore;


The quiet roar

    of engines that had crowded the empty street—
Empty, as the heart that once circulated;
Empty, as the soul of the now bleak;

Empty, as the life that once was;



The ever-elusive hope—

    a derogatory drug that must be purged,
A sermon pressed with rhetoric and useless words;

The absurdity of it all, the forgetfulness of the living—

The rope, tightened by so many hands . . .


The bright red and blue

    that grew dimmer at 5:02;
The faint memory that dimmed, before it occured;
The gun never found, the thoughts never heard;
The conspirators that were there, but never saw
the trigger being pulled.

From my own collection.