(An empty Room with two 11 syllable lines and off-rhymes)
There are here poets and poet’s masters –
Senses; dreams, scenes within scenes, broken plots,
Lost pages, separation…Astronauts –
There are here stages and broken actors.
After sunrise, a man plays his guitar.
The sun is hot today, the day is wet,
A widow sits in the bar, she cannot forget.
The night, is dead still, she cries for his arms.
There are here sovereigns, bands, talents and fakes,
Fluorescents, paints, acrobats swinging away –
Swinging close. What are all people, but shades?
The back-and-forth child sways with happy days,
But when it rains, the swing in the park remains.
A poet smiles, but lone memories stay –
Mastered by grays, spaces between joys, pains.
note: If I remember correctly, the ‘lone memories’ refer to my early times at UCLA.