the yelp's
from wavy haired women
who finger themselves at night
fantasizing about carnival workers
the husband's and band-aids
looking for some
lost pathetic child hood
there is no robin hood
no politically or creatively correct
there is only this
ruptured fingers
speak moments
in solitude
to cream glazed
roller coaster rides
in the headaches
they all
shrugged off
another never no's
another's thoughts
when one
never no's
his own
the yalp's
like cotton candy
with loose bolts
swarming bats
eyes of love
prizes lost and found
in for the night
with harmonic ghosts
sugary teeth ache
there is only
one
among many nothings
This poem Copyright 2001 Nicholas Morgan.
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