Jerry Pike Poems
|83.||A Film Star In Babylon||10/17/2007|
|86.||Levi Tags And Fringes||5/31/2008|
|88.||Forever And Always||5/30/2008|
|91.||How I Miss Love||2/18/2007|
|92.||I Own The World||2/18/2007|
|93.||Let's Get Lost....For Chet Baker, Jazz Man||1/3/2008|
|96.||Are You Happy With It?||5/31/2007|
|98.||Little Gold Box||7/20/2007|
|99.||Snow Is On The Rise Boys||4/6/2008|
|100.||The Guns Of Navarone||6/1/2008|
Comments about Jerry Pike
He buys the weekly cake,
slices, and shelves it in the lonely fridge.
Her years of baking,
lovingly crusted to the past.
She sits, blue stains enamelling her feet,
temporary scars from a body
that no longer holds her drink afloat.
He fetches warmth in a bowl,
adds mild bleach, and toes
and teas her up to evade concern,
while her feet unlace the dye.
All around, the stench of careless carers
drag life to its lowest ebb,
how little can they do,
without their chill icing over?
There was one rode in, and one rode out,
below sodium trickles, of Saturday doubt,
under skies of lake purple, with pock marks of stars,
there was one road for nowhere and one for the cars.
There were tramlines of yellow and Morse code in white,
by the hill of a station that glowed into night,