silence in the bristles

silence in the bristles

 

 

scrap metal synchronicity

she was golden

I was tin

a soup can mentality

pop top crop

of silver

 

lining

my fingers with the touch of her

hair

left in the brush

when she brushed me off

for another

 

now the junkyard dog howls

late at night

at forlorn lovers

with tags

that give names and address

of broken hearts

seeking shelter

 

baying at a moon

that quit being luminescent

back when his hair

was an ebony cloud

and the broth still

 

had a bit of steam.

 

 

erin-cilberto

1/7/23

Reviews

[D. Mansfield]

A painful look back? it is a great poem, and we have all been the peron left with th only the hairbrush. Thank you

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for visiting this lonely poem, D.
j.