Prehistoric Night Walking

Sitting in a nigh abandoned
parking lot at 2 a.m.
on this cold damn morning-
bundled up just waiting.
Two girls walk onto this scene
just appearing like some fish
from the Pleistocene period
that ends up on the end of a
fisherman’s line.

Like that fisherman
I don’t throw
the atavism back.
I just sort of
stare in awe
as long black hair
blows in the wind
to reveal a delicate
face beneath.

The other girl hovers
at her friend’s side,
brown frizzled
hair wrestled
into a bun that
is perching
atop her head
like an atomic particle
approaching infinity.

The brown haired girl
pulls herself into
a little ball as she
sits on the curb.
The rest of reality
follows the motion
of the mass that
is within her
and linear perspective
becomes curved.

She with the hair
the color of ravens
speaks but no
detectable words
can be heard,
the delicate tongue
flips in and out
caressing
a chipped tooth.

Her small hands
bring into existence
a cigarette. Then
move up and down
the map of her
body searching.

I fumble like
a primitive man
trying to produce
fire for the first time
as if my life depended
upon the action,
and for me right now
on some level it does.

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2 thoughts on “Prehistoric Night Walking

  1. This is excellent. Really fine writing. You do keep me coming back. I was going to tell you which were my favorite stanzas, but it turned out to be the third through the seventh, and that’s hardly worth noting. I might as well just tell you that I loved it all.

    P.S. I change my name/blog address a lot. So don’t expect to recognize me from visit to visit.

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