Ann Jensen Poems

Holiday Inn neon.
The odor of overpowering humanity.

Fast lights through the curtain
...

Vision filled dancers whirling round, seeing nothing and experiencing all. Full tapestried skirts belling out a pervading odor of sweat.
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Why? Why? Is the cry in the night.
The howl of alone, far away.
Padding through the wilderness of night-smell.
Panting for air.
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Soothing rays.
A subtle caress.

An elusive moon behind clouds of misconception
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Curled lips
A territorial snarl

Demon be gone...
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Whiskers trailing down my belly.

Whispers behind gleeful hands while passing through the halls.
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A cry...As from the black wings of a moth
Picked up in the sticky fingers of a child.

Unstirred dust,
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Live and breath the flowers of the night.

Never seen.
No one to pick them.
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