The door left open
A crack, my earphones
Weigh heavily on my head.
My eyes shut. Back
Hunched. Knees following
The crunchy rhythm
Of the music. Mumbling
Words I’ve half-forgotten,
My surroundings melt away.
The aura of separation
Surrounds me, hangs over me.
At this moment in time, only
This song gets through.
Listening to other notes
Floating around aimlessly,
They seem to be nothing but
The hollow shell of
Some former soul.
Taken Only Yesterday
Gazing out the window in the morning
At the snow in broken lines
Drifting downward, how
Could I not feel confused
By your sister’s pictures
Of sunlight and pink sakuras
Blooming fitfully, fantastically
On trees among mountains
In the Taiwanese countryside,
In the middle of winter, in photos
Taken only yesterday?
In the darkness of early morning,
The alarm clock throbs like a heart.
Scratchy trumpets blare on the radio.
Everything has the quality of a dream.
Drops of rain plopping into puddles,
Mist wafting in the morning air,
I am stuck on a street corner, waiting.
Cars motor past me, breathlessly.
The interior of the office dimly lit,
Quiet, exposed, empty of others,
I partake in a fresh cup of coffee.
Coworkers trickle in, one by one.
Joshua Paul Bocher’s poetry has appeared in such journals as Illuminations, Burningword, East Coast Literary Review, and Mused – The BellaOnline Literary Review. Previously, he lived in Taiwan for two and a half years. Currently, he works for non-profits in the Boston area and lives with his wife in Somerville, MA. His personal website is http://cranefeather.co/