angled all right

he sat down
on the east line
leaned back
against the north post

the light played
across him
to burn his shadow
on the ground

stretched into
the west plane
an elongated
dark spectre

he shaped himself
adjacent
to the night

whistling a soft tune
haunting
in the still air

sitting
doing nothing
in the streetlamp’s angle

feeling
right at home


© Frank Prem, 2017

March 2017 Poem #9: contemplation in the heart

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7 thoughts on “angled all right

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