What Comes Next

What comes next?

Who ever knows

at night the wind picks up

A single leaf flies unnoticed

In the central city mall

A friend you

can no longer find I'm

sorry about that

Pretending to be

sitting on a bench

waiting for a tram

glassy strawberry

lollipop reflection

On the black

tower's side

liquid pool.

I can only dream

the hunger inside

You placing

pieced silence

Into the palm

of your hand

pushing fingers

closed over

still waiting.

Notes

you have

lost

Operatic voice

melting

The wrought iron

gates.

If only this

could become

clear to you...

Department store

a kiss

which means nothing

in front of

oncoming traffic.

These responses

are automatic

really

evoking

a movement beneath

the stretched

towering length

of shadow dirt

Under the thumb

nail eye contact

In the crow's nest

no response

What we will

or cannot know.

So many

red lips

thread bare

belonging

persisting

electronic

beeps.

I want to go

home.

Reviews

[Red Brick Keshner]

There is a kind of isolation even in the overcrowded clamour of the CBD that brings a shuddering pang of what was and quite no longer will be. The textures of our todays can be instruments of torture even in the pleasure that they peddle only to dismay.

[Amber Rose Warner]

Wow. The loneliness and angst comes out so strongly. I'm sorry about your friend.

[Brett Hernan]

Thank you Amber. The only reason I joined writerscafe was to put up this poem. You should see his writing!

[Brett Hernan]

In memory of my friend and fellow writer, Duane Cartledge.