Isolat

The title was formed from turning the word 'Isolate' into a noun.

His eyes are sharp, and glitter

From a face of city litter, looking out

From parking lots, and a thousand city blocks,

And the traffic that surrounds him, and the pavement

And the street, and the prisons and the missions and

The drag of many feet.

 

His skin is old and weathered

And his face is tough as leather, drifting on

Through giant stores, and a thousand crystal doors,

And the high-rise slums that claim him, and the cheaper

Type of wine, for he's often in the gutter

Though he never gives a sign.

 

His clothes are old and tattered

But it doesn't really matter, walking on

His lonely ways, through a thousand lonely days;

There's a Luger deep inside him with a trigger

Like a hair, and the only one to pull it

Is the one who put it there…

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Marie]

A mysterious port of poem...nice flow and imagry...I somehow think of people marching to this rhythm...

[Steve Thompson]

Interesting flow with your words,
There's a Luger deep inside him with a triggerLike a hair, and the only one to pull itIs the one who put it there..I love that thought process you put me in. Nice read!