Power Lines

..

 

This poem is a
live wire, a woven liar,
a vowed lyre
with a broken string.

It’s a filament of sigh
and song, a quiet longing
sizzling across the miles.

It’s a caffeine-keyed up
smile, clacked black
against a snowy page.

It’s a barely there
strand of my
-self, pianoed soft
into syllables
only you can hear.

 

..
November PAD, day 5.