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Thursday third day

by Johnny Crimson

This was
less than evident.
The way the shadows
bent in time.
The lingering whispers
in the room.

Hands crossed
for safety
a single glance
designed.

Seven seconds to zero
another hour undefined.

Spin her face
in the dreamlights.
Sell me tickets tomorrow.

Silver drips
from her fork.
Time dissolves
yet again.

I can hardly keep
from smelling the cushions
when you exit,
and photographing the crease you left on the couch.

12/28/2011

Posted on 12/29/2011
Copyright © 2022 Johnny Crimson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Alison McKenzie on 12/29/11 at 02:39 AM

Johnny - there is always this mix of magic and reality to your pieces that stuns me. This is no exception.

Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 12/29/11 at 03:07 AM

What an excellent longing! Great write. Thank you.

Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 12/29/11 at 03:43 AM

"Longing" sums it up, and that ending burns the house down.

Posted by Steve Michaels on 12/29/11 at 05:35 AM

I haven't read you in a long time - nor anyone as I've been hiding under a rock. That being said - I like your new place - it's a smoother drink!

Posted by Meghan Helmich on 12/29/11 at 02:08 PM

Hot to trot, my friend.

Posted by Joe Cramer on 12/29/11 at 07:18 PM

... brilliantly evocative.....

Posted by Tony Whitaker on 01/01/12 at 09:17 AM

Brilliant! Don't we all know that dull, dead ache in loss!

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