poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “ghost town”

ghost town babylon

this town has no name
but somehow keeps growing
one tiny skyscraper at a time

word has it
this town is quickly resurfacing
coming back to life
after its decimation
many centuries before spaghetti westerns

people keep arriving here
in waves and droves
like magnets with no
particular place to go
kicking up dirt and looking
to settle old scores

they say a horse
can take you only so far
into the desert
but this town appears to be
disproving that notion

are the flowers truly
blossoming again
leading up to the outer edges of town
or are they simply allegorically illusory
like a mirage of tiny skyscrapers

december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

changing course to calico

we went to the coast to relax
but the ocean turned angry
chasing us back towards bakersfield
on route fifty-eight

somewhere along the way
we stopped for coffee and gas
highway bandits lifting the surfboards
before we received our change

(none of the cellular towers
seemed to be operable
many of them laying horizontal
between barren oil fields)

the clouds above were filled with
rain refusing to confess
lightning and thunder merely
static racing through the speakers

stoned boys in back suggested
we change our course to calico
where they said the honky-tonk there
was certain to change our luck

june two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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