August/December Diary

What made a crown of flowers so delicate,

a chivalrous, a chauvinist, ideal of royalty?

She played along with the princess bit, a day,

before moving on to wait tables at the pizzeria.

 

Summer is fading into winter, all colors grey,

and the endless rain and cold mornings, only

leavened by the light blue of the pre-dawn sky.

I wake up, get into work way early, just to see it.

 

I could make spells out of the incantations of the

lyrics of favorite songs, the soothing, brutal basslines,

the supplications of exasperated, desperate, love filled

singers.

 

I might go north to Vermont, over the Christmas holiday.

Where the aliens came and took that girl away one night,

left the stench of their evil in the air by her abandoned car.

Maybe I’ll be taken too, or maybe just disappear, like magic.

 

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