by Mark J. Mitchell
She put her nightmares on a diet. No more war news
for her. Just old tunes, cartoons, cold war news.
She sailed out of the bay under the red bridge. She swore
by tides, looking always west to see offshore news.
Her phone ate messages. She barely glanced towards
those screens. Facing the truth she’s perfectly bored by news.
Old trinkets get polished by strangers who pour
secret oils, sinister. They see her record news.
Light made her miss the dark dreams. She wanted some more
but didn’t dare ask sleeping gods to gift her sore news.
She felt words appear on her face, along her form,
All the stray stories marked her as if she wore news.
Mark J. Mitchell has been a working poet for 50 years. His latest collection is Something To Be.. A novel, A Book of Lost Songs was recently published by Histria Books. He’s fond of baseball, Louis Aragon, Dante, and his wife, activist Joan Juster. He lives in San Francisco where he points out pretty things.