When at the peak voltage
streetlights **** the stars
and behind closed doors
rumbling slumbers
down the cries of the nocturne
awakes a world of opened windows.

Home from the last show
eyes colored with screen idols
shadows huddling over supper
talk of the length and worth
the plot intrigues and intricacies
the creator's whims and fantasies
while unbeknownst the night lengthens
tiring the shadows
that excavate the trash bin's bottom
for living through the morrow.

The filaments feel lonelier
as those last windows shut down
starlight wasted
on an enveloped town.

for redemption  mid life
birthday candles
gas ovens and depressions
******

jewels in white chairs
glistening and hard young loves
in nearby beds
as the fumes consumed

words cannot claim a life nor fumes
unless fed by sad stories
and noxious visions
of a spruce forest

and one lonely larch
calling

life is a nothing if a platitude
of discovery and seeing
sometimes things that are not there or attitudes
which are visceral
airless balloons and gaseous
bursts of noxious fumes
as many times balloons
might float
they also fall like we all do
all along the coast the swollen
float as small
plastic residues
no longer beautiful
tides like brooms
sweep the crests the furrows
the burgeoning breeze
cleanses deaths smell and memory
from the sunken swollen
ships
a sailor stands as a ghost
and signals
hail hail to thee