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I fill a prehistorically stained blue seat
as we pull left down Florida Avenue.

In a black pyramid of oversized shirt
a woman spreads gospel from hands

heavy with speaker cones, the chorus
warning all unmarried womens

to look out, look out for the devil.
A man two seats ahead stares out

into blurred spring-raised dusk,
shudders inwardly, cupped with fever -

the college girl who chanced herself
beside him fishes with a worried eye,

edges a thigh into silver aisle air.
Four kids without parents field

strange questions from an old drunk:
"You kids like watching cartoons?

You like them cartoons where pants
fall down and you see some ***?

I know I do" until the oldest brother
huddles them off the bus with a look

dark and hard as moonless brick.
As I exit on Belmont, I pass a pair

of construction workers, hardhats
tied to belt loops, fallen asleep

shoulder to shoulder, lulled
by the soft hunt of April thunder

that rides across the slates above,
leading lonely names into the west.
you don’t talk
to me

you make it
hard to see

it takes
two to tango

and i’m tired
of playing
guesswork

that’s got me
all tangled up
and confused.

so when you
showed up

the last time
at my door

and told me
it wasn’t meant
to be

i was certain,
for sure,
that nothing was
wrong.

but you led me
on,

and said it was
only for
your benefit

and nothing more.

now i’m ripping
the pages from this
book

because i’m
just sick of it all,

sick of writing
chapters and

sick of falling
in love.

i don’t wanna
be lonely forever

but if that’s what
it takes to heal,

then i’m so
over it—

and this time,
i want something
real.
inspired by rob thomas’s “lonely no more.”

a breakup poem about letting go of mixed signals and empty promises.
some love stories never begin—because you're meant to write your own.
Don’t disappear.
Not today.
The humidity is too low,
The vibration of baby insects hums along the ground
Surely you hear them.
Tomorrow it will still be springtime
And the day after that.

You can’t disappear, you’ll miss the fireflies and the August lilies
You’ll miss the homemade garden salsas and the baskets of eggplants and basil and sweet peppers
You’ll miss the crunchiest leaves under your shoes
The feeling of warmth after cold
The November moon.

Don’t disappear,
The wide world needs witnessing
And you’re the only one with your eyes to witness it.
When I was cold,
my surface was so predictable.
An icy land allowed me
to be alone, distant, safe.

One day, the sun came,
and changed my frame.

The warm wind melted everything.
I became defenseless saltwater.

Untamed tears,
chanting my past lives
hidden in the drops
of who I was
and what I longed to mean.

With time, the calm waters
turned clear and soothing.

The particles of light shimmered silently
in the fractured space,
being so gentle, like a healing touch
lost in the dark past.

Now, when a strong wind blows again,
I'm so afraid of my untamed waters.
I don’t want to hurt,
I don’t want to be hurt.

Without shape, without frame,
I’m so strong and fragile
in perfect duality,
like a fierce ocean seen in fulfilled light.
I hear this endless symphony
calling me to the definitive solution.
 2d
Traveler
In the darkest depth of night
No moon, no star, no sight
I find no fear , no foe
In the presents of my soul!

In knowing beyond belief
No longer is life a thief
Imagine the relief..
In a world of so much grief!
Traveler
 2d
Traveler
Even if you see
The whites of their eyes
I suggest you never shoot
A foolish person draws the blood
That stains their very youth

And even darker days await the one
Who betrays a friend
Unless somehow you’re dead inside
Your conscience will condemn

And sure, greener grass awaits
On the other side
But you’ll never enjoy a single day
When your life is but a lie....

But who am I to speak such wisdom
So sober and quite calm
When recklessly mind, body and soul
Is how I carry on...
Traveler Tim
Always Here

for you my love.  I said
that last humid afternoon.  The
melt of love dripped,

refused to release
into rivers, steamy and
loud. The birðs

squacked
inside the black
cage,

as if they were prepared.

Love never lasts
in my yellow
world.

It is always  in Shakespeare

that tomorrow
accompanies
the winding down of
a love affair.

True north
is

Rarely ever

True


Caroline Shank
April 30, 2025
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