Dolores King

Dolores King short poem

Photo by idovermani

I weave in and out of people’s lives like a ghost
or a thief in the middle of the night, so,
I take quietly to the mind, and the matters of the wind
in my room, in abstractions, where the moving images
become one, and
from it a living mind, with a soul and a room of her own.

I take the glass grey
the one with the dolphins, also the one I took from the liquor store
at 13 — and pour,
a whiskey sour.
I follow the colors of the book
every line, dash, I’m paying attention.

And to say the least
I’m beginning to love this life
this sigh of great relief;
but when I burn my hair
you will pay no attention.

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