Dim Traffic Light

Dim Traffic Light – By: Erickson

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Strangle thin cloth, and cut under –

Dim gray parking garage.

Wrinkled, buttoned Clothes – garbage bags –

Engorged by pale student.

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Plate and plate of morphed buffet – Brain

Adapts in light of day,

But breeze whispers “It’s time to change” –

Tired shadow’s longer stay.

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One unloads barricade pillows –

That glued themselves to sills –

Stacks them on the middle counsel-

A spine cracks wide and fills –

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The ghost beside the swarms of clothes –

Peeks a moon’s crescent smile –

Hugging the infiltrating night –

“Eight-five-zero” – run for miles.

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The being before the mirror –

Sold currency of thought –

Potential beauty, you could be –

Rule – feel – define; but Taught –

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The tongue’s edge, sitting – fate ensues –

Skid marks stop – dead to you –

“Roar engine!” – It shall tell the truth.

Lights strangle…stars… the Moon.

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Dash accumulates memory.

Racecar bed needs payment,

Attempt to command the stops – dream.

The car is locked.

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