Parking Lot (10/14/05)

[moonwick]

Carefully on painted lines,
tightrope walking by moonlight.
Across the way beneath a lamp
cigarette sparks rain down
from a circle of nocturnal chain smokers,
but I stretch out my arms balancing
(they're not watching anyway).
And I wonder how these shining vehicles must feel,
all dressed up with nowhere to go;
four wheels ready to roll,
but three white lines hold them still.
And we mustn't stray outside the lines, must we?
Oh no, for fear of pain and sin, we stay within
long after the paint does fade.
If cool, soft grass were more prevalent than concrete or tar,
I'd be feeling it whisper against my ankles.
But instead the lines rise up like walls,
and I teeter on the top edge.
If I had a great fall,
all the king's horses and all the king's men
couldn't put me back together again,
because they don't know which pieces of my heart go where.
And they'd never think to look for me here.
At three in the morning.
Cold and hopping from one white strip to the next
(like a bird in a house of beams)
out in the parking lot.

[werewolf85]

this is nice. out of the ones I've read, I'm liken this one the best.

[moonwick]

Thank ya. I should get some recent ones up, though. These are a bit old.