top of page

B. Parker


Lucky day, spring night

Sound of Southern boys

Goin’ no place special.


Dim at first

Headlights brighten

            gather momentum

            shoot across the ceiling.

They fade.

I’m still here

Remembering how the shapes felt.


It is important

What you remember

Or is it how you remember?

Who can tell?

Might be relative,

Might be absolute.

Mostly it’s space

With energy in between.


Looking for patterns

In a new medium—

            figures on a page.

Must I apologize if

            they are not nude?


Your lines are too short

Chopped down, essence of.

Excuse me, but are you writing poems?


Why? Ya’ll poets?


Hell no.

We just like short lines

Hit home, unafraid.

But apologize just the same.


I might say hello


Silver tongue of the West


Somewhere the sound of soft dare

Tearing corners off placemats.

Gentle men, I accept.

bottom of page