orange light streaks through frazzled fox palm dancing across the street to the tune of wind rattled fronds and back-alley burlesque beats phantoms rattle in ¾ time outnumbering the sober their bodies buried and rotting like the captain’s floor we all tripped over uneven sidewalks that carry whispered promises and low calls and high heels mama says town is dead on tuesday im not sure i believe sky’s closer here or maybe earth is just farther away |
Author's Comments
Key West. Didn't capitalize.
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You should be proud of this.
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Follow me and all the things I do: [link]
Most of the lines came to me while I was walking the streets, seeing or hearing the very things I ended up trying to write about. I think it ended up being more the town than me, that made the piece. That old drinking town has a lot to offer.
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"They turn over their little purple moonlight pages, in which their secret naked doodlings do show..."
But yes, I don't say that to a lot of people, but I really like this poem alot. (And I'm really picky about poetry.
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Follow me and all the things I do: [link]
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"They turn over their little purple moonlight pages, in which their secret naked doodlings do show..."
And yes, you're welcome.
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Follow me and all the things I do: [link]
or maybe earth is
just
farther away
Interesting piece.
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The fiery windowsills of a setting sun.
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"They turn over their little purple moonlight pages, in which their secret naked doodlings do show..."
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The fiery windowsills of a setting sun.
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