1/31/2021 Poetry by Tom Pescatore Fred Postles CC Gnostic Reading You are reading this with totemic vision. your eyes are like headlight winking stars in the void night over I-70 Kansas plains. your finger on the mount are like god's timeless hand tirelessly being all time, being anything, being same, meant as everything or; your smirk is of my creation out of nothing, becoming nothing, going back into nothing, after all being of nothing at the start you are reading this as a last dying light, going out. ...and the floorboards were golden so that you ran your tongue against them carving and chipping bone and screw so that you were forgetful unable to piece together what had come before so that you pulled your knees up to your chin blind to dirt and dust and scruff and tar so that you took to running knifed edges across grain drawing up curled veins so that each needled point penetrated the skin and left glitters of light in their path so that with each step the surface gave slightly sinking marking your footprints your face prints your palms so that at night it appeared as it did before but for the metallic taste so that even though your outside mildewed with collapse the inside shone brightly in the sun Don’t wake the camp with your bindle 50 yards into sagebrush field over the cattle crossing bridge duck under the barbed wire fence turn right 7/8th of a mile down the trail marked with hacked out squares dyed yellow over red to wood laid fence triangle shaped hot spring pool tucked along hillside tobacco root mountains overhead morning as the cool dew dries sunrise to take in the waters still and silent in the Montana sprawl Tom Pescatore can sometimes be seen wandering along the Walt Whitman bridge or down the sidewalks of Philadelphia's old Skid Row. He might have left a poem or two behind to mark his trail. He claims authorship of a novel the Boxcar Bop (RunAmok Books, 2018) and the poetry travel journal Go On, Breathe Freely! (Chatter House Press, 2016). Comments are closed.
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