| fly-by-nite lighthouse |
| An afternoon snaring minutes in an empty suit an oversize vestige of a realm reviled a place I lived, some thought thrived sipping bourbon on-the-rocks laughing, snorting violently boy how I could fill a doorway Persuade you silently eyes piercing over rims commerce my role my unmistakable quest for goals dangled off hook past fingertips' reach, unassailable then retrograde pounce into breach, unavailable boy how I'd ask for the sell Jettison the garment it no longer fits well it wrinkles where loose flesh has disappeared buckles in cinches at the waist- a true waste- of woolen mastery material soup-thin like septugenarian skin- a thing deceased time to entomb this empty suit trundle roads to new territory unhinge and unleash salvation acceleratory man what I'd give for a sign |
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| ALL POETRY COPYRIGHT MB TANKERSLEY 2004 |
| empty suit |
| My first boss used to tell me that I "filled the door" well when I went to a sales meeting. He had a whole dominance theory about sales technique- whom let go of a handshake first, the volume and pitch of a voice on a phone conversation, even elevator behavior- all were indicitive of a person's sales performance. Just thought it would be good if people who read this (both of you :-) knew that sparkling kernal of info. |
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