Litkicks Message Board Archive

much of the night

Posted to Action Poetry

she is hiding
her intentions
in the celophane wrapper
of her cigarette pack.
her soul
in this wrinkled plastic.

fingers fluttering
like a moth
beating against a windowpane
after it flew in yesterday
attracted by the yellow, decaying light
of my dirty lamp.

hands, smudged
with ash
still graceful.
delicate winged wrinkles
exploding from her soft palms.

we spend too much of the night
filling ashtrays
and wondering
why the moth doesn't just fly
out the door.