"hotspring" poems
replica of the statue of liberty, made of
concrete, a beacon for weary motorists
stranded on route 66, endlessly
drifting in the dusty abyss, stands in front of entrance
with her readymade torch.
she mumbles into a phone, then hands us a key.
a tiny room for breakfast goes unused
and the swimming pool is cloudy,
the concrete walls reverberating
empty chlorine
pleasantries, a watered down
hotspring dream.
above the headboard
is a long mirror, spanning
the length of the smoky room's
back wall, a silvery strip
reflecting faded yellow wallpaper
with subtle unspecified flowers.
the side exit leads to an empty lot, long
grass growing out of neglected potholes, a cyclone fence
blocking off a direct route to the sonic
drive-thru.
the sky is orange, it's always been
orange, it always will be
orange, looming over distant mountains
with narcissistic strata.
Apr 20, 2020
Apr 20, 2020 at 5:44 PM UTC
you are sweet as honey
and warm like the sun
a gentle breeze on the plain green fields.
the light side of the moon;
a hotspring in winter.
you are the flowers that grow,
in a garden of weeds
you are the light that the world needs.
Nov 8, 2019
Nov 8, 2019 at 9:00 PM UTC
once seen, this
hillside--a chill stone, dropped
in a hotspring
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 4:19 PM UTC