L o n e s o m e

is
the click of the lock
on a door as it closes
in your face
then the chain slides home
is
the sliver of light
silence swallows
laughter leaving you out
all night whispers
is
dark torturing dusk
before moving in for the kill
raising gooseflesh
as it follows you to work
and back not seeing not
feeling not
but for shadows that stalk
as your feet grope a walk
all crumpled dirt mixed with
rock

not that one remembers
one remembers all right

once silk sheets warmed
out of love
no more

l o n e s o m e
is
no coat and your shoes have holes
and you are thinking of hanging
a black wreath
to stave off questions and collectors
is
new wheels and no one to pick up
new do and no one to look twice
new outfit new club
even you don’t look
is
the long, low, moan
of a train going nowhere
and taking forever
under a pail handle moon
packed waiting room
jetway station so called home
stranger wearing love’s necklace
ambulance like wail could be
fire truck
same old backyard barbeque
jokes voices bar chatroom meet
in the basement of some church
is
a shriek from a child
torn into with a belt
or bloodied by a bullet
just happened to stray

l o n e s o m e
is
the only one on the bus
driver yawning at the end
of the line it is two in the morning
and the houses and streets decay
out of fashion cemetery offers
tombstones losing to
vandals and weeds
bulbs flick dim yellow light
often no light at all

l o n e s o m e is