I click the door shut, walk down 6 steps and I’m on

the long lovely street at midnight, at which point

I exhale long and lovingly, breathe in; cool air,

the distant swish of cars, summer stars – hunter,

dogs, hare; the wide ship that bore the Argonauts.

What are my thoughts? I envisage nothing, I cannot

fathom; walk a few steps up the street and dig

the click of my footsteps and pause, for effect –

beneath his window, lit; the yellow glow is fraught,

like me last evening, harsh in the cool darkness.

I fix upon that yellow spot and, in my mind’s eye,

the bald spot on his head. And as I focus on that

peculiar image, I evoke in that minute

the few maledictive forces I have gathered.


11 December 2015

3 Responsesso far.

  1. Mark Prisco Mark Prisco says:

    thank you Dean, and John.

  2. john keast john keast says:

    Yes, the power of what is not said.

  3. Dean English Dean English says:

    reads well, depth in the unsaid, too…

Leave a Reply