| Author | Date Entered/Modified | Views |
| Daniel A. Stafford | 9/6/2000 6:36:58 PM 10/13/2022 8:51:27 PM | 900 |
The Midnight Phone Booth Poet
Darkness your ally, as your boot crunches on broken glass.
A black Fedora hides your eyes in shadows akin to the alley's rulers.
Long black coat, shoes the color of the night.
Walking past the wino's barrel fire, a crinkled wrapper fluttering at your step.
Mystery is the only name you carry on your tall frame.
The case in your hand has a weight beyond the physical residing within.
You step out, into the world of street lights and storefronts,
Twinkling reflections on plate glass windows and neon colored.
The girls at the corner laugh, flaunting sweet looking flesh too well.
The coffee in your hand isn't shaking just from the caffeine,
And the sweat trickling down your neck under your collar,
Well, that's not just from the hot and humid foggy night.
You see your goal in red metal and glass, under the streetlight's pooled gift.
Looking five directions or starters, you enter, bringing out your tools.
The mouthpiece dangling from the chrome coiled line,
Never meant for this, never conceived of.
Your laptop screen's glow just covered in trench coat shadows,
You send your secret racing out over the wires,
Net bound produce of hard work and intellect.
The poet Anonymous has published again.
The wind whips paper past the working girls' ankles as you vanish into the night.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/06/2000
Author's Comments
A bit of dark fantasy humor, thanks to a muse riding Andy's Note down the lines...
| Author | Date Entered/Modified | Views |
| Daniel A. Stafford | 9/6/2000 6:36:58 PM 10/13/2022 8:51:27 PM | 900 |