The cursor relays Morse code conversations
Never anything of inspiration
(Just one more critic to add to the row)
Filling out little scenes of introspection

Typing a word--backspace two
Typing a paragraph--highlight and delete
Everything that comes out
Eventually returns to white space

Little girl
Bohemian dancer
Feather laced hair
Color indulged ankle-length skirts
Bare feet stomp the muddy ground
Twirling and twisting

Somewhere in the miles behind
I shot her down
Left her disabled in a field
Full of wildflowers
Where she loved to roam

Tight hair
Business-professional
Plain black heels
Standard Bic pen and blue 5 star
Write with precision
No laughter, just proof
You can intellectually hold your own

Somewhere in the miles ahead
I put a bullet through this head
Imposter, over indulgent façade
Conned by the simplest ploy
Reality calls up on the phone

This only works
When the scent of wildflowers
Freely dangles in the air

The one time
Journeying to forever ago
Is the only motion home

The little scenes of introspection
Refusing to fade back into white

03/07/2010

Author's Note: different from my normal flowy-ness I suppose.

Posted on 03/07/2010
Copyright © 2024 Kimberly Bowen