Lost time.

we adjust the clocks ahead, and back
pausing, sometimes in moments
of inanimate decompression
and we lay still and warm in tenderness, cocooned
stifled, resolving to awaken transformed

then the alarm sounds and we’re there, again
with high pitched echoes down the long hall

in the mutual air, shared
I am often waiting for the knife
clumsy with my cuts, my fingers have always suffered
but not nearly as much
as my heart

we adjust the doors, slamming and locking
hesitant to open again, while we scale walls
balancing on our wavering habits
and dodging, the fodder for fear
we hold in our mouths
and our hands



© 3.21.11 heather brager

hurdle.

fear runs us again
slipping into dim corners
lying with the dust



© 3.8.11 heather brager





Photo: http://000moggy000.deviantart.com/

matters of attraction.

the dust is falling
drifting on air emulsified
a flurry of discontent

the table tops
are waiting
and the television
drones static
while he’s pretending
to be there

lyrics in the stereo
simplicity is waning
in signal saturation
on repeating waves
riding the synopsis
in patterns

the nomadic particles
force sunlight
to show their scars


© heather brager 2.24.2011

Ctrl Alt Del

we all do our best
sometimes forgetting our place
fifteen years backward


© heather brager 2.21.2011

point of contention.

on these empty roads
my tax dollars recently
widened from A to B
I have traveled often past
an abandoned gas station
the lanes curving sharply
to the left after signs warn
to slow down to 30 mph

that little ghost town is
blanketed in western dust
broken windows are grimy openings
to wandering souls
where no one looks outside

there is a gravel turn off
and a scenic view of
some snowy peak
I can’t recall names
mayflies and gnats whisper
in muffled hisses
urging me back into the car
to continue on my way
and stop disturbing
their deserted air

sometimes there is a destination
with signs showing
where to enter and depart
when I get lost by chance
maybe I will pause
engine idle and music low
to plan my return route
considering every path there
and possible detours


© heather brager 2.21.2011

sometime in her 40s.

she imagines sultry or edgy
that he caught his breath in
that ugly vacillation in her step
in heels and a dress, but
never like that younger tramp

icy bitter and resentful
an oblivious iniquity
the shallows of understanding
saturating the surface layer
and drowning her in mediocrity

she reorganizes her image
amid a life of artificial crisis
wallowing in envy and
coveting singular moments
just waiting for that opportunity
to bang down her door


© heather brager 2.18.2011