Poet’s Choice

Blowing car horn bullets bark
against the pressing night time’s faded
wasted larks while high heeled
flamingos fly from their perch
ever homeward;

pizza men and surprise organists
lay their greasy wares against
the glassy Frenchmen stares,
and at the close of nocturnal daring flights
all here will stand naked.

But now in greatest feathered swoon
as clouds and light obscure the moon,
where palms prick parked cars
and dancers soon are lost inside their shoes–

there is home
and there is glued my sole
and cherished stomp ground.


One Comment on “Poet’s Choice”

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