LA, sun is bright, but it’s cold.

I walk, caught in a dream, her.

A face kept forever, before my

world came to be, she was lost.

Somewhere a ghost remembers,

and the airman came home again.

Ritzy hotel selling a promise, a smile.

That wound makes a demon come.

A young woman, sitting on school steps,

that I stand before, smoking fumes of ghosts.

No one’s face reveals the days end.

Half torn and mocked in a blasphemous pose.

A fancy hotel, the night come, things go on

and they stand still, and hum like power lines,

the juice to memory and vengeance and loss,

to the bright stars that we make of the dead.

The streets are just a moment, changing,

but we’re still the demons and the angels,

the sharpened knife, to too desperate kisses,

and the hope that damns us time and again.

1 thought on “Lingers

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s