some poetry without a series

Hey guys, lately I've been writing a bunch of poetic series, but never fear, I do occasionally get around to writing the stand-alone poem every now and again. Here's one just for you. Enjoy.


never lasting nighttime games


she raced into the kitchen to light
the candles
and she held her breath – that’s
what
lonely girls do of course –
and she counted the tiny flames and
she took a bath and drank some water;

he raced
home on a bike and counted
the pine trees passing –
because when boys are lonely
they try to escape –
and he watched for speeding
cars
and trains.

the land later turned over and
night refused to invert;
the games

that last so sweetly
go

wash away in creek beds, and morning
is inevitable.

the girl dreams of pancakes and
the boy
of
bimbos.

some one sings down the way
on their balcony
and

half the neighborhood despises the melody;
the other half
is
elegant and refused to form
an opinion.

and somewhere else far away too,
a man takes off his glasses
and
sobs in his favorite chair;
and

some woman talks to herself
while lying
awake in
bed.