few poems

still

i'm driving
rolling down a slow hill
press myself into a
stop
glance to my right, to where
the red glow of lights
plays
in a tangle of snowflakes
the bits of sky falling
i'm reminded
forcibly
of walking in the dark
cool fingers of winter
pinking my cheeks
thick snow crunching
underfoot
soughing of wind in the trees
all those things
remote
i've traveled
somewhere
else


***
layne

i catch
the grumble of your guitar
glitter mingled with lost
electricity
acoustic i hear for the first time
how melodic
it all is
how put together
when you're loud
(and i'm singing at the top of my lungs)
i miss it
the little slices
twangs and shirrs
riffs of voice
i'd call it soul
but you'd
scoff.

***
in the dark
beneath the skin
in secret dark
i listen
the drum of flesh
thumping, with my
heart
blood sings
it really does, if you listen
put your ear
to pillow, you'll hear dull
thud
thud
thud
your temple, pounding,
the dance continues
whether you're listening
or not
when i was young i thought it was
footsteps
someone creeping
down the hall
darker, darker
in the dark
beneath the skin
i'm sneaking
up
on
myself.

(thank you to a poetry class from carol-ann russell for that prompt--"in the dark beneath the skin" is a poem i've written many times, many different ways, for years.)