On Leaving Town

On leaving town, the storm slammed the back door shut and taking a few breaths, a short rest, returned for another night of gust and blow.
November's trees, nearly undressed and clinging to a few scraps of yellow and brown rags, tightened their grip on bark and branch; reluctant trance dancers, arms upraised, silhouetes against failing day grim cloud skies. Homeless and discarded, brown leaves danced a twist with plastic scraps and paper cups, while poles vibrated and fiddled their lines. The pounding of frantic slapping screen doors, asking to come inside and the drum rolls of errant garbage cans somersaulting. Wind chimes wildly clanking, the constant crashing of glasses dropped from high. Warm and furious, the wind shook the town tried to peel the asphalt off our streets.
I went outside for the massage and sights while cozy moles slept peacefully deep underground.

I Walk My Conscience

Long after the late clock chimed the last midnight tone; after the blue flicker in living room windows has died; when the wet, bare and black branches of sleeping trees sag under the weighty presence of an endless blanket of silver star light; with sleep no friend to me, I walk my conscience.
I have it on a long leash but she stays near, too near, and points to the street corner, to the hexagonal sign. Yet, I won't stop. The triangles that I ignore and never yield. All the cautions and wrong ways that I neglected--.
This empty street: a perfect companion to my empty self. Looking up, I feel the elusive edge of infinity with the invisible fingers my eyes sprout. I wonder why and how I came to be here, underneath this endless silver blanket.