Lizard in a Border Town
Robert Appleton
Robert Appleton
Tumbleweeds on a circular highway to tomorrow,
we’re here again – the night and I.
Grey borders hold stale, liquorice walls in place;
steaming yesterdays vent through every grid and pore,
evaporating to rust the scaffold of my dreams,
filling puddle-pocked alleys and streets –
long ago windswept and lashed by a tarmac rain.
we’re here again – the night and I.
Grey borders hold stale, liquorice walls in place;
steaming yesterdays vent through every grid and pore,
evaporating to rust the scaffold of my dreams,
filling puddle-pocked alleys and streets –
long ago windswept and lashed by a tarmac rain.
Bursts of neon short and re-charge
like Christmas tree lights in a power cut –
lilac glints pulsing with desire,
throbbing through my electric veins;
they light a sign, a crackling sign,
above the oldest joint in town –
been closed for years, but never to me.
like Christmas tree lights in a power cut –
lilac glints pulsing with desire,
throbbing through my electric veins;
they light a sign, a crackling sign,
above the oldest joint in town –
been closed for years, but never to me.
Concrete everglades press about my longing;
the green blades of tall glass, partitions of survival,
reflect this swamp of jealous eyes –
the place she haunts with a fragrance
only a lovesick journeyman could bottle.
the green blades of tall glass, partitions of survival,
reflect this swamp of jealous eyes –
the place she haunts with a fragrance
only a lovesick journeyman could bottle.
A tickling perfume breeze amps my ticking rib-cage;
I plunge to inhale the last trace of her mercurial memory...
this place where a simple gal stopped me
on my junction to a million nowheres –
me, a fish out of hope and water,
a salamander malady skipping night to night;
a bar stool upended, splashed from time to time.
I plunge to inhale the last trace of her mercurial memory...
this place where a simple gal stopped me
on my junction to a million nowheres –
me, a fish out of hope and water,
a salamander malady skipping night to night;
a bar stool upended, splashed from time to time.
I’m a lizard in a border town, she’ll never let me drown –
she’s somewhere between air and water,
a hiccup hiding in sips of alcohol,
my amphibious malaise as I follow those neon blinks,
to the last watering hole... out of town.
she’s somewhere between air and water,
a hiccup hiding in sips of alcohol,
my amphibious malaise as I follow those neon blinks,
to the last watering hole... out of town.
Mohave Sunset
Ione Citrin