Brett Rogers Poems

This morning when I woke,
For a shooting-star second
(the pilot light beneath my skull clicked clicked clicked and caught)
I did not think of you … and felt still.
...

There is a fluffy, blue hydrangea flower (solo and strong) on my parents’ patio.
This Southern Summer storm thrashes at the screens and petals …
The smoke from my cigarette hugs the humidity and eddies,
The radiation from my cell phone swamps my brain,
...

[Eyes closed …
I am trying everything
To get wasted.
Shhh!
...

A rusted-sounding Cadillac or Impala
Whizzed then rumbled
From stop sign to openness,
Southbound through my 10th St. neighborhood.
...

The Pear tree petals polka-dot the pavement.
They have seemingly all bloomed overnight, like a surprise planned just for me.
I feel dizzy looking down, like if I cross my eyes, just right, there is truth behind the white and gray.
I run through it all,
...

I take B & G out to pee and come back,
And though only 8-10 minutes have passed,
I check my phone for word from you.
I cannot imagine the lingering heartache of previous times
...

[On a perfect day,
On the ‘computer connected to brain’ eternity-loop]

… I have left work in the dry, afternoon Sun
...

Someday.
One day …
We will sit quietly on my lime-green couch,
No knees aflutter, no nervous mouths,
...

Every so often,
(Quietly at the kitchen table
Over a slice of pie
in the late-night)
...

If I was Graham Bell,
And you were Watson,
(Or if you wish,
The other way ’round)
...