Tuesday, September 15, 2020
Fini by David Spicer
Jim Morrison was right. This is the end.
I’ve burned bridges, chased clouds and blues singers,
I’ve sung the blues about those burned bridges.
Felt like killing evil men, stood on a ledge.
On that ledge I’ve seen evil men kill women.
Washing my hands, I found cleansing my soul hard.
Did my soul need cleansing more than my hands?
I’ve worn white masks for months, walked through red fog.
The masks lasted weeks as I walked through red fog.
And I’ve traded stories with scarred criminals.
We all scarred our stories with lies and crimes.
I’ve broken curfew and watched men cuss stop lights.
I want to do more than break curfew, cuss lights.
Jim Morrison was wrong. This isn’t the end.
David Spicer has published poems in Santa
Clara Review, Synaeresis, The Sheepshead Review, Remington Review, Steam Ticket, Third Wednesday, CircleStreet, The American Poetry Review, Ploughshares, Moria, Oyster River Pages, Gargoyle, and elsewhere. Nominated for a Best of the Net three times and a Pushcart twice, he is author of sixchapbooks, the latest being Tribe of Two (Seven CirclePress). His second full-length collection, Waiting for theNeedle Rain, is now available from Hekate Publishing. His website is http://www.davidspicer76.com
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