A crack

in the door,
the cold

from outside

on its back,
sneezes
in meandering spots

on the floor
borrowed

sun rays
&

takes

my face

in its hands.
A crack

in the door,
pretending

not to be staring,
throws

a sip or two
of gleaned todays

down

my throat. Oh, how they
grow

on my taste-buds!
Thrive

into a tree, a trip,

love
or a

R E V O L U T I O N.
The crack

in the door…
Where lonely

hearts,
happy

thoughts
and one way

tickets are hanging,

this strange crack

in the door.
Dressed, undressed,

and revealed

by satisfied customers

and day trippers,
my friend,

pretending to look away.
A crack in the door

where some roads end,
takes my face in its

hands.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

______________

Photo: Alexander ARTWAY, “Parisian café” (circa 1930)