jerome moore


shipwrecked in the bottle


I am deaf to all but you.
Sometimes I catch fragments of your laughing in the wind
Laughter which thin and airy ebb in through my window
like the curtains which separate us.
your body like cold steel and I hear your piano across the snaking creeks
the meadows, prairie, desert, the parking lots...
and it drips like run off from the tip of a hanging icicle,
drips from beer tap into a well of tears
and it dreams alone
as it disappears into the cold body of snow.
Dissipating dissecting and dawning the sun is out
and I remain shipwrecked in this bottle.

Submitted: Sunday, March 17, 2013
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