Frank Praeger

Indolent Interlude
 
 
The piling up, the flood of sound, and a fixed star,
indolent interlude in the presence of a Siberian tiger.
I have not lathered my face
for this stilly no nonsense hypothetical;
I refuse to acknowledge threat, dream,
knive plagued playground,
cracked cement,
unthreaded needles,
bent nails,
copper tubing,
explorations of an unremaindered past,
or dark wherein crocuses close.
Ah, pearl gray encroachment on a lavender siding.
Ah, that dark wherein I, too, have rested.
A crow and a greater dark,
a bracelet charm in a rain spout,
voices and moving figures,
finger pointing and clarification.
Escape in a subway entrance, emerging to a new life,
another reprieve.
Horseless and no oasis,
A coconut mango mix and cherry blossoms off to the side.
An only answer, patience,
without awareness of the calamitous events,
the bizarre nights,
the waste-weary, vapid intrusion of day,
the uncooked meals,
excuses for two.
I am closing down,
a little dry rot,
a less than sibilant whisper taken for mind,
a perplexing darkness for sleep.

Frank Praeger © 2015