making a way through the week

like a animal hunting its prey

the hint of rain every afternoon and

the solid light of day melts away

at the rise of night

like the open of the door

one more hour and the

feel of cool calm as if swigging cheap wine

Yet another lantern on

the end of the street between the trees

guidance at the direction of the streets

that still have my blood on them

but I have no doubt that I am headed there

again a smell of smoke and steam

a branch perching as if a balcony

that those yellow eyes

peer down from a different existence

and I live there too

About jaybeasley2

a writer, a painter, a poet, a wordsmith
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