Laurence Overmire Poems

is the reflection
the image of a ghost
haunted by life
love-lorn romantic
...

The door outside the self
...opens from within

But locks from without
...

His name is on a quilt.
It hangs in the museum.

People from all over
...

You call me evil, the infidel or worse
But I'm your brother, aren't I?
Made in the same image of the same
...

Death is waiting patiently outside the door
Smoking a cigarette
Notching the minutes into his belt
His dark eyes fixed upon some distant star
...

the quiet seconds
of fingers

touching
...

We are the holograms of our
Spiritual selves

Matter but a figment of a
...

The heart gets used up
Year after year after year
The mileage wearing on balding tires
Sure, it can be recharged, with sufficient juice
...

drip
drip
drip
the minutes fall from the ceiling
...