pulled out from under

Quail in the snow
it used to be here somewhere
jay in the bare
branch once a bough
I used to know this place.

Traveller but never
all the way not as outgoing
as he should be
a grimace like someone
who needs a new face.

Yanked from the past
used to be black and white
a voice of present
pulled out from under
for looking at this time.

Where do the bewildered
end up laboring after work
these guys making
a helluva hullabaloo
and lots of money too.

One answer is hanging
in the air like storm coming
pulled out from under
the rugged eyelids
that saw only half.

Another on the jittery
dance floor kept down and dry
with liquor and licorice
the drugs of choice
for the shaky.

Scavenge as many
others as can be made out
scribblings in crayon
on the walls on the ceiling
in pen on the skin.

Ending does not come
or it comes suddenly
then afterward it decays
reaching down and terribly
shaking us like an angry uncle
does a crying baby.

Quail in the snow
it used to be here somewhere
jay in the bare
branch once a bough
I used to know this place.

started 25 February 2010
From lines jotted down
at Harry’s in Hyannis
which is no more
on a Thursay night in January
finished day before thanksgiving
on Wedgewood Road

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About mrsorenson

all over the place
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