Discovering the nun on the radio
Still bleeding, but only in black ink
Desert highways from a distant youth
Debated truths & now fallen out of sync
Wiping fingerprints from the Dial
Our subscription long ago expired
Shifting hemlines & the fate of love
Reception’s attenuated; must’ve crossed wires
Haven’t seen a service station in hours
Sweating profusely with not a cloud in the sky
She presses the accelerator & coyly winks
I’m dizzy & both our throats are terribly dry
The grand rubbish
That we display here
Our soul’s bleeding
Harking back to fear
But we push ahead
& slowly expose
Our personal thoughts
Fighting the reality of those
Image by Khusen Rustamov from Pixabay

Empty wine bottles clink; devoid of all inspiration
But that’s not the way you remembered they bled
Choosing the perfect wording for posterity
A trembling shadow of what the poets once said
We once set out to create a fresh universe
But that’s not the way I can any longer think
Falling in love with strange, beautiful women
The source & reason for all the dedicated ink
Our souls entwined in deliberate communion
But that’s not the way that I came to be lost
Specific writings to engrave our cosmic lust
Forever entombed within this highland frost
For whom the Bell Jar tolls
Chasing demons down the dark hall
Scratching an itch until it bleeds
Beyond a fantasy that wasn’t there at all
Never letting the imposter take hold
Growing larger in our own impression
Sizing up unquestioned confidence
Surviving in spite of a soul’s transgression
Captain Q 