Poem of the Day

I saw you disembarking from the car with things

suiting the angular curves of the shoulders

a case for an Apple machine, 

a shadow unfolding its contents.

Not trying to match you in that carpet walk

dissuaded by the trees on both sides, like slaves

at the whim of the wind.

The corridor spilled sodium light close to a cigarette haze

that cinematic loneliness neon glow

mid-step blur around a hollowed ambience.

As you took the first step in the portico and turned left 

to your room, a world made of suspicion uncased 

the painting of a woman standing in a cornfield

in the corridor was my next destination, 

but the way you took out the key from the bag 

unlocked me as if I were a structure forgetting 

its inner geography, furtive glancing, continuing the 

project of walking alone caught in the undertow 

of a consequential eye-echoing.

Beneath a veneer that has kept the ethics of stalking 

without disturbing the plausible chances of distress

there was a pause, like every good poem, the editor wants 

to see, creating a moment, escaping another 

which in fact is neither a conclusion nor a silent start.

No one appreciates a poet’s loneliness

his monologue triggered rain, making him 

run for shelter holding a steaming cup,

there was no one,

the wet windows looked ghostly,

a rook perched squinting, 

plimsolls creaked… 

loneliness hired a companion, a chair,

a waxing puddle tabled the dark drive,

this surge

would certainly take somewhere,

the sort of me.