jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

an imperfect circle


we’re not going anywhere
no not this time
the two door’s in the garage
buttoned down with the top down
collecting but a little dust
tank full & engine well greased
strangely idling there
cleaner than a gun

everything seems to be wide open
like a harvest moon rising
into a cloudless night

but alas here on the ground
nothing’s quite the same
yes there are sights to be seen
but not a single place to stop
steering clear of small populations
gathering in imperfect circles
& passing around
dirty little secrets




june two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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