Come, let us take a ride into lonely summer nights
Where crickets chirp in sequacious melody
And foliage smooths into sidewalks of musk
Where trees dawn into an age of wiring
That fades into midnight's shapeless rust
We take this night drive in a rented Cadillac
forgetting that the point of leaving the hood drawn
is to become the wind and gaze upon the stars.
We are constellations, wrapped up in lines;
each node telling our stories one by one,
illuminations drawn on sand paper bodies like winter storms
what is the breeze to those who cannot feel?
all that we are worth, we are
and all that we see is turned blind eye
when glaring at faces in pictures on the wall
They stare back at me.
They do not acknowledge me.
And I am not there
am not there.
What does it mean
to be alone
We walk daily to the beach to feel the salty waves
and taste the world beneath our feet,
Grains of sand stretching the spaces
between and into the webs of our toes
like borrowed time
and into sorrows chimes
is the wind not a feeling?
What is this world
if not a speck of dust?
And we are
a speck of dust:
We do not stand among you
pictures on the wall
we do not stand,
Mikey Bachman's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (California Skies by Mikey Bachman )
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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