"hcb" poems
Air congeals
with a baby's cry.
Spray paint proclaims
that you don’t
****
with HCB,
*****
Darting eyes of venom
warn against complacency
as iPods beat
hard-house hits
and lyrical dreams
of somewhere else.
Masses lurch forward,
brakes screech with agony,
waiting for oblivion
or 5:17pm express
as city succumbs to night.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 11:47 PM UTC
When I walk outside in the dead of night,
I think I will see your car parked in front of my house,
like you used to do when you would throw rocks at my window.
sometimes I think the glow of the stove light
against the glass door in the kitchen
will produce an image of your face,
for it, I would lie awake and wait.
last breath before I sleep to make
your body in a home I do not recognize.
this woman is not your mother
and I am not your lover,
anymore.
I know the way to your house in my dreams,
I keep the key in my pocket, but I can never pick it up
and I wonder, when you walk outside in the dead of night,
do you fear you’ll see my car parked in front of your house?
like I used to do when we made love in your bedroom.
—HCB
Dec 6, 2020
Dec 6, 2020 at 3:04 AM UTC