Ginger or Coal

My brain hurts 

Inside my head 

But the streetlights are 

Dim yellowing and

Far between.

Say hello nonverbally 

To ghosts and

The anxious dead.

I walk on the side of 

The street I normally

Never would.

Shaking from hunger 

And bad nerves 

Like bad dogs and 

Out-of-date software.

Feel the crisp cool air

And jingle the 

Wind chimes on the 

Transom of an

Empty funeral home. 

Crunching leaves 

Under the worn soles 

Of shoes a summer old.

I don’t know where this 

Next road goes

And I don’t really 

Want to know.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Once I travel with a destination. Was the best days of my life dear Anna.
"I don’t know where this
Next road goes
And I don’t really
Want to know."
I liked the above lines. Good to escape the cage and seek open road. Thank you dear poet for sharing the amazing poetry and your thoughts.
Coyote

[Vol]

Anna,
All roads are dark and looming with secret threats or promises. And we walk as timed by a strobe appearing one instant at a time our veery being changed at each frozen revelation, so we are Schrodinger's cat both dead and alive listening for ghostly hints on the wrong side of the street...
Settings as the main character are brilliant, and a worn and tired place such as you describe have a way to crawl inside our heads like a brain hurting inside our heads so we must take note....
Well done, for real!

[Kelly Scheppers]

I was captivated by your staccato lines, how brilliantly they spoke in muted tones of a syntax of words. What a pleasure! Nice to meet you, Anna!