She got him all wrong, the strong
arms gone to brittle.
Clay is troubled to form the
impression.  And longer the
art of your dented and salted
mire.

For nothing like a walk in the
boneyard of the cheap motel
of her imagination.  

You are Rant and Ruin.  The
Remains crust and smoke
Tomorrow of her old age is
the rat trails of her poetry

I know this because she told it
to the murk and creep of your
deteriorating smoke.  The last
**** was unimaginable.

Run far and away from the
wrinkled visage of memory.
You are red and ruins in a
slot of yesterday.

Today runs through her like
wine and bread.  The table
is set for never again your
chair is broken silt.

Caroline Shank
3.22.2023

Tomorrow

There is no forever for me
The pulse of death stopped
and I am limping, I am
stammering.   You took
forever from my catalog.

Tomorrow issues from out of
a cauldron.  There are no voices
in the wilderness.  St Paul
come to me. I am short of
goodness and love.

Teach me oh Lord to skip
stones across the Jordan.
I will drink tea in a mug with
your name on it.

Brown is the color of my true
love's hair.  My white hair
shapes the Ganges on
your chest.  I told you I

would write.

Tomorrow's fortunes feature
you in some farther

field.

I awake from this deep dream
of sleep Abou

Where there is no wind, for
tomorrow never ever

comes.

Forever and ever
(Saecula saeculorem.)


Caroline Shank

There's an elephant in the room.
(Don't you ******* hate cliches)
It's growing around the furniture
up and over the years of careful

coaching.

I can't pretend at last.  You need
to ride the carnival behemoth
out of here so we can breathe.
The pink lady waits for her

automobile.

I want to go to that place where
emotions are colored and the
candy is not cotton. Where the
taste of chocolate rides my

mouth.

Another dime in the juke box
please.  The circus is pulling
out and all the cliches mount
up to the wedding of Miss

Haversham.

Nothing else makes

sense.


Caroline Shank
3.9.2023

Okay Country green and faire,
the rival feathers of America,
the soft shells of Siesta Key
Beach, the roar of the freight
train as it turned belly up in
the anxiety of a post qualude
weekend.

Marriage was the script of
the Land and grass the dress
the smaller stately Maples
wore spitefully as the red and
black Muscovy waddled up

looking for the crisps of bread
that Jim threw out every day.
The gospels of Sand Hills
displayed in the Red hills
colors.

The citizens of the Back Yard
smoked the tender joint while
I ran to the top of the hill, Jean.
The score my devastation wrote
on the billious worn sofa.  Green
toile soldiers armed with the
nets of armaments.

Toile was the pattern of my
tru loves coat.  Green were the
dresses flirtatiously spilling my
*******.

Then you lay my sorry self on the
deck of the ship Wisconsin.
My chair was missing and
we made clumsy love in
spite of the sway of the
floorboards.

Oh feature with me,
man of sorrows, to
the end of the play.
I will dance at the middle
and musk the top of my old
bear.

Bare my top and I will,
saucy,
be the selfsame

sinner after all.


Caroline Shank

I used my last chance, a ride
on the solar system of emotions.
I fell off and sat for a minute
on the eyelash of memory.

The long rope of my only
last and forever temptation
unkind and undone.

It's not true.  It takes a minute
to unravel the sinue wrapped
around the idea of you.
Wrought around the music

is you struggling forever,
trying to unravel the speed
of memory.

The seed of yesterday,  The
bed of undoing.  Red and
ripped I cling to the
final appointment.

Tomorrow is the kaleidoscope
you feared. The colors
patterns solidify and the habits
reveal the dead solid center.

I surround myself with the
sunflower blanket. The
synapse of yesterday tugged

before I knew you.

and dragged
the moon's light mine.


Caroline Shank

on your last day
the sun was shining
and big white clouds ran across the sky

someone held you tight
and told you, "i love you"
admired you
and cherished you

on your last day
all of your love poured out

you inspired
and you soared
you lived
and you died

your love remains
always

The mystery is not so much the
deed Tom but why.  

Of course the karma of
my acquaintance celebrated the
dedication with which I floored
the pedal over the years.

No I didn't leave an opportunity
unvisited, a door unopened, a cup of coffee undrunk,
or a walk down the evening hours
to the music of possibilities
unsung.  I learned to rub the
consequences into my benefit
and gave my response to the

night air.

I lie prone now reading on the
living room couch and ponder
the times.  An unseen vessel
pilots me from behind.  Hope is
when I sail her into the

long sought after meridian,

when the time
for poetry is over
and in the
afternoon I find your

conversation

waiting


Caroline Shank
3.1.2023