Lonesome in The Tree

January 24, 2007

Lonesome in The Tree. Waiting
for someone else to come
and shake me free;
pull me through the branches
rescue me from bird song,
man shaped feathered arms and
small pressed beaks. I’m –

lonesome in The Tree, with
bright globes of electric fruit
strung across the bar like fairies-
hung from raftered beams-
lonesome, for a world where
bright things breathe and
things make sense. Tell them-

the floor is not a filthy mess
of black dots,
the ash tray not
a place for killing lungs,
that the hands around my glass
are only pressed for waiting-
Not lonely.

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