Untitled (for now)

top the door with a hat

Tilt your black hat,
Fix your sun glasses.
Spew the words you intend to deliver to the masses.

The cain that props you up bends with every step.
Every single eye is on you except for hers.

You're not good enough,
perhaps you're too good.
If you allow yourself to give a little,
maybe she would too.

A stiff arm, a slight twist, now you're blocking her view,
she can't see through a door,
that equals you.

The bottom line, the conclusion, the summery,
Just let her out of your mind, so you can both be free.

---C. Morgan

written on: 05-26-12

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Spinning on unanswered questions

Step, glance, take a picture if you must.
Hands down, she's the cutest girl in the store.
scanning these large black discs for an "S" titled album,
Music flows through her fingertips.

Could she be a musician of some sort?
Could she in fact be the very person in the album she's so delicately looking for?

Questions must go unanswered.

She's headed for the door.

---C. Morgan

written on: 05-26-12


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dress in the wind

Waving like a pirate flag atop the main mast,
her dress defines her in such a way.

Legs smooth with a shine,
the moon's reflection,

blinding.

Sparkling gems in place of eyes.

If only I could reach out to touch her cheek.

In the middle of the street,
we make our proclamations of politics and other such nonsense.

Grip my hand and twirl under my arm,
as if music has possessed your body and you must dance.

Last night is the past,
The Morning is the future,
and twelve O'clock is our right now.

Let's leave no room for "I wish I had", and "What if"'s.


---C. Morgan

written on: 05-27-12

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