by LJ Frank
Waiting…
linger and mark time,
is expectation a prologue
or merely a reservation misplaced
save the curb where I sit
I remain and watch
a dream wanting of lucidity
holding my chin straight
my mouth is dry
my conscience struggles
integrity is not a place
or etched in a plaque
it’s merely the trial within
for my drug of choice is patience;
having been referred to
as “just in case”
I’ve have had worse nomenclatures
designated nicknames and eponyms
in the past
a branding lost in a be-wilderness of jargon
nor was the “I” a symbol or typology
rather simply a non-denominate
with no creeds or tenets or doctrines
save the “soul” of my bare feet
on occasion
imprinted in the mud;
my attire shreds
a miscast metaphor
in a forgotten century’s alley
the stone and brick theater
with two lamp posts as guide
and all the while
a reason for being here this moment
departed on a bus
three hours ago
and so, I wait
reflect
and wonder
if the beat of my heart
is a rhythm in your soul.