Not This Time, by Christopher Hileman

Not This Time
by Christopher Hileman

I showed up, opened
the program and hoped for sauce
to squeeze out my heart
with my red red blood
that my words might mean a thing
for once, and maybe
appear soaring with
the flock of full fledged word birds.

Maybe I will get
it right this one time…

Then my head just exploded
and the heat of me
dispersed like day fog
on a summer coast morning
and I fluttered by –
a boy of all boys
in my dreamy escapades
from stumblebum shores.

Note: Written in response to Red Wolf Poems, Prompt 309.

Christopher Hileman moved to Oregon in 1973. He has retired to live on the volcanic bluff overlooking Willamette Falls in Oregon City, Oregon. He ascends the stairs from his basement digs to improvise on his Yamaha keyboard or the house Playel grand when the calico cat releases him from below. The part-Irish Wolfhound here likes him.

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