Gray Matter

Woeful magistrate of incipient dreams
My right eyelash twitches
irreverent of waning daylight you
Your contestable emotions impose
Others tease me, my
staunch hope for
forget-ness
[This doesn’t read well, doesn’t
touch you, you think,
that’s because I’m intellectualizing,
pulling at gray matter like a cat clawing a couch.]

My heart is on her front porch
there
where she confuses my corpse
with scavenger hunt clues.
Judge of my creative character
Jailer of my blackened heart.

© Rick McKinney 1995

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