Poetry of Issue #7        Page 31

Midday moon in a black leather jacket

Midday moon in a black leather jacket
strode past my window
on a path that owned
the asphalt sky.
She carried her sneer
to a washed dawn in
a midnight bathroom
of shadows.

In pallid mornings
we would leak water
between index finger
and thumb. Rust bloomed
like frost overnight
for the men arriving,
progressing like light,
empty of money.
We watched,
peeled a layer
off the day,
exposing the delicate skin
and grease of evening.

(in tribute to the poems of Arthur Russell)

  R. Bremner