Poetry

2 poems by Charles Wilson

Dream

I dreamed of you last night,
layered in old brown leather,
silk lavender, cowgirl boots.

We were standing, or sitting down.
We were all alone, or in a crowd.
Our surroundings were spinning

like a lasso humming,
or a carousel turning
behind frosted glass.

I drank your perfume.
I could feel your fire,
your desire, your scar.

Separated by seasons,
we cleaved together,
in one ephemeral embrace,

until the jangle of morning.

Lonely

You’re lonely as a telephone pole,
tethered to others, lines sagging,
laden with crows.

The world’s a pearl:
crop duster plumes,
cotton patch blooms,
sky as blue as a ’55 Bel Air.

You’re dry, cracked, leaning, still sturdy.
You hear the humming of the highway’s song.
Your shadow grows long, crawls over corn.
Your perfume is pitch, pine, turpentine.

You’re lonely as a telephone pole,
tethered to others, lines sagging,
full of voices.

The tin rooster turns and squeaks.

                                                   

Charles Wilson is a poet from Virginia Beach, VA. He is on the Executive Committee of the Poetry Society of Virginia, and travels the Commonwealth supporting poetry.

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