poetry on the 3A
poetry puts a ring around me,
reading on my smartphone,
reading on the bus;
brought by you, dear poets, to me
on twitter see?
on twitter!
no fuss to read and reflect
through my reflection, dark on the wet
window, the wine red grapes of night,
and all the chatter around me,
such languages that I don’t speak;
but the poet touches deep,
and my winsome smile over
all their heads,
the passengers,
in the seats,
draws the scarf of comfort,
even in discomfort,
and I sigh and stare into the night,
and the bus burrs blank prose,
and the opening and closing doors
rhymes of all the timetabled times
between me and a heaven
full of your lonely words.
don’t press the bell!
i’ll ride them all the way to hell
and back again.
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