One Fine Poem by GJ Hart

This Street, This Night

 

I walk from the salt

of talk and hors d'oeuvres

and tasteless dressing

of hands out into coolly

uttered mist -

grief comes

with the forgetting

of it and no spade buries

shadows -

I stand drunk

and starless - this street

once rushed in like a couriered

heart, the falling river set it

pounding, now our rooms

barely turn -

and is endless as every

journey we'll ever make -

we'll travel in green

and spears of lace and hope

when the shortest day

calls the longest night

our day be bright

and kind.

 

GJ Hart currently lives and works in London and has had work published in Isacoustic, Nine Muses Poetry, The Molotov Cocktail, The Jersey Devil Press, The Harpoon Review and others. He can be found arguing with himself over @gj_hart.