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CL Bledsoe

If that had been a knocking at my door
and not kids tossing firecrackers at the cracking upholstery
��of the street
I would rise like steam waft
to the door open and smile and have something terribly clever
��to say
about the nature of time the way it bunches like curtains
��in the hand
of an agoraphobic god perhaps something
��about sorrow
the empty aching bucket a soul becomes
��through lack of use or too much
like a discarded light bulb broken at one end
��and letting water seep in
like an empty womb of light

Maybe it will be a her and I can tell her
about the dream of popcorn I just had
whole potential lives exploding outward
��into something like fuzzy paper
segue it into asking her if she’d like to see a movie
and afterwards though I don’t know how to dance
��we could go dancing
like in old movies romantic flying over the floor
like a steam cleaner
though to be honest
��I’ve never seen any of those movies
just clips moments before I realized
��what they were
and changed the channel

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