An experiment with a poem with no verbs

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The man and the woman on the train.
The man with his forehead against the window.

The woman with her eyes, focusless, on the aisle.
Between them, silence.

Outside, the snow on the ground.
The lightness of the few flakes still in the air.

The hint of the brightness of the sun behind the clouds.

The space between the man and the woman on the train.
Just enough space for a child.
But empty.
Sadly empty.
Tragically empty.

Far back from the train, the cemetery.
A plot with just enough space for a child.

The man and the woman on the train.
His arm, outstretched, towards her body.
His open hand absentmindedly upon her belly.
Upon the subtle bulge of new life.

Far forward from the train, the uncertain future.

Not that I was challenged exactly but, I was intrigued by this challenge.

 

----

 

sunbleach days and starstrewn nights

following deluge weeks

fallen birds amidst the detritus

seeping decomposition

the roundabouts around this life

ultra-strategic positions

all so real somehow



contagion/containment cycles

misconstrued whispers

misinterpreted breaths

the hardly audible winter

 

 

dark factory lights

labor the metalscream

the fine line between weaponization and

an honest living

mind machinations and

the unbelievable and yet

all so real somehow

Letterpress, code of dress, the venue in uptown;
Lamborghini, diamond studs, designer evening gown.
Hoity-toity carpet rolled,
A trip across the sidewalk bold,
Camera flashes - strobelight sequence - careful tiny frown.

No place for dirty denim here,
No coasters under sweaty beer,
No dirty jokes from scruffy peer,
No bawdy laughs nor mirthful tear.

Faces seamless (Botox smiles) and careful neutral glances,
Feigned engagement with whatever cause and scheduled dances.
Silver-gold bespangled cohort,
Specialty imported torte,
Paparazzi telephotos - scandalous romances.

Gossip pages, glossy photos, morning talking head,
Bonfire of the vanities in lieu of mortal dread.

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