Diane Schmolka, Officiant  
 

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dandp@gmail.com

 

Buttressed

Parliament buildings glow in the autumn evening shells of democracy now lit only from behind

Iím patrolling for a perp who rolls drunks does break-ins for loot

I have the drunk in my field glasses hiding between buttresses, Iím camera ready

(much more of this, Iíll become Mother Theresa but I need no Pope for an audience)

here comes the suspect he approaches the bum like a jackal to a sleeping cheetah, but doesnít need a pack he knows why they drink, what they need and havenít got

twenty yards away, he wonít see my breath tonight he is slow, perhaps nowhere else to go but completely focused, the way Iím absorbed in you the way youíre into radio morning and night

many times I wish youíd turn it off Iím on to you, even more than Joni Mitchell

the perp has fallen asleep stars fading into the immersion of a rainy day

there is nothing more to do now my shift is ending I want to join you soon, but Iím safer writing you notes

words stroke you like the tongue of a cat and wings of a moth you can open notes in your own time mineís wrapped in you

Iím a chrysalis just hanging by a thread waiting to shed what has clung to me like discarded cellophane but donít quote me you have no real evidence unless a news bulletin announces Iím finally home.

© Diane Stevenson Schmolka .

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Page last modified on December 26, 2014, at 03:31 PM