Saturday, July 11, 2015

Friday Nights

Vibrations increase in intensity,
a hum that’s getting deeper and more persistent,
building a steady crescendo towards broken expectations.

The records stops at 3.32 am
when the dead of night roars at its loudest.

A solitary figure on the sidewalk with green hazy eyes
walks one slow step at a time, looking for a silence that’s a foreign concept
to her shady mind, ever restless.


  1. Sweet Jesus. This is amazing.

    "building a steady crescendo towards broken expectations" ... That's kind of like every day of being alive, isn't it?

    "The records stops" ... You have a typo here, but I kind of like it. It trips me up and makes me wonder at all the possibilities. A record playing. Documenting records. Plural or singular. Either way, something vital is ceasing.

    I love the "her" at the end. To me, the hazy figure could be a man who wishes he could find a silence, a peace ... but her mind won't let him. OR, the shady figure could be a part of her. She's segmented and writhing over her different parts constantly at war.

    Really, I absolutely adore this poem. You are an excellent poet.

  2. hello shadow its dennis the vizsla dog hay hoo is that green eyed lady??? is she a vampire??? a vampire hoo has reesently left a danse hall??? i wil hav to tel dada to be kayrful wen he leevs the danse stoodio at nite!!! ok bye

  3. Hey, I got green eyes as well.
    Never found much on friday nights though that did much more than
    dull the senses, maybe the voices - just a bit. Til the next morning.
    But it makes for a nice escape - for just a bit.

  4. "building a steady crescendo towards broken expectations"

    You've captured that solitary Friday night feeling perfectly here. Senses dulled, the tired week behind you, an exhausting week before your feet. Perfect.