Abhanga
the approaching evening
comes complete with gray chills.
his last cry, mountain fields
that die in me.
Abhanga
morning-old woman's cry
greets day with unabridged
weakness. Moist mem'ries slid
down my dry life.
rhyme-royal
I.
down Lexington and 45st street he
walked the walk of men condemned, that dead-walk.
passed me by, heard this swallowed 'hello.' seen,
that dangerous look, empty eyes that stalk.
it was May; the air full of peoples' talk
and he made it to her place. No greetings
only cold glances...sound of birds singing.
II.
i was a boy-man making men hobbies.
married to insecurities. i would
misplace my right to think; my body leased
loneliness I wore, reaching what I could;
I indwelled this structure blackened wood...
a house intended for empty mem'ries
and me trying to find those living keys.
©2011 Wordchestral Publishing
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