waking everlong

©2022 Michael Raven

trapped in waking
'lectric lines dancing
with blue fire
oktober skies fallen grey
a bad stumble
is all
drifting away like
a nameless stranger
on the wind, a
skittering russet leaf
over broken asphalt
in the distance
their hungry

wraps and rags

©2022 Michael Raven

my drifter mind
seduced by saudade
wanders lengths of
abandoned streets bound to
melancholic memories
of neverwere
the cloying scent of
oblivion tugging
at the ragged edges of

Liminal Doors.

“I know how to find the Dream Country now,” Lachlan said, sipping at his coffee, the tendrils of steam rising from the black velvet depths in the broad stoneware bowl someone had the audacity to call a mug. He sat back in the wooden booth polished by age and rested is arm on the high back. Too hot, apparently, to drink. Instead of bringing the cigarette to his mouth with the hand holding it, he leaned toward the hand instead and took a long drag, held it and with a languid ennui, breathed it out.

“Bullshit,” I said in a not-unfriendly way. Lachlan had been talking this crap for years now. Most of his friends, the ones who stayed through this little obsession, well, this was the point in the conversation when they’d walk away, ask for a to-go cup and suddenly find themselves forgetting a previous engagement. Those were the smarter ones, anyway.

No one ever accused me of being smart.

Continue reading “Liminal Doors.”