AUGUST 2014

Brain damage
splashing daily matter
one thin dime at a time
resting on the dirty floor
a company of strangers in need of a broom and more.
Solzhenitsyn
sitting on his closet shelf
collecting August dust in 2014
one hundred steps from the actual front
his combat weary grunt
counting each passing year with metal slivers of seconds
careful not to get too close
or drift away too far
remembering The Bell Jar
and other useful tunes in the box.
more empty bladders on yet another battlefield
with one soiled, impassioned STOP sign and a frantic YIELD;
the child resting on wild meadow grass
shielding her eyes from the burning sun,
looking for the wisdom of a neighbor and finding none.
a fanciful dancer
touching each nose peering from the trench;
a quiet bus waiting near the public bench.
a mother boards every twenty minutes
for a village either north or south,
as the narrow valley runs directly in either direction.