Wheels ripped over street like velcro, the
headlights’ attention puncturing at angles the storefront
standing sweaty in the sauna of a passing deluge.
Raven-necked graffiti artist, spinning
a glass focus into bricked periphery,
the svelte body with feathers in the loose space
of sleeves rustle up a flee at the fuss—the
spray painted grove and black cans, rolling
eggs, abandoned.
To nest in this hard place.
Untouched. Let be.
__
Dan Baucom is a writer with a few publications in poetry magazines and poetry editor for
A Literation magazine. Reflection and daydreams are common motifs
in his writing.
headlights’ attention puncturing at angles the storefront
standing sweaty in the sauna of a passing deluge.
Raven-necked graffiti artist, spinning
a glass focus into bricked periphery,
the svelte body with feathers in the loose space
of sleeves rustle up a flee at the fuss—the
spray painted grove and black cans, rolling
eggs, abandoned.
To nest in this hard place.
Untouched. Let be.
__
Dan Baucom is a writer with a few publications in poetry magazines and poetry editor for
A Literation magazine. Reflection and daydreams are common motifs
in his writing.