Michael H. Brownstein

I will tell you this and I will tell you this this time
In the register of the person
In the rhythm of the building
In the stepping stones of one handshake to another
In the bathroom of broken concrete and scarred walls, graffiti and cracked windows
Twice the dream came over me like fog
Only more intense
Like thunder with lightning
A crack with fire
A break in the line
I woke crying and uncomfortable.
The terrible thing about writing in the morning is you forget that someone you love can
Or you never knew them before they die
Or the breath you breathe is meaningless because someone you should know is dying.
Then there is nothing left to tell.

©2012 This work is the property of the author.


Posted on October 13, 2012, in Michael H. Brownstein, POETRY and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. More profound work from Michael. The last poem from his first submissions.

    Read his other good work here:

  2. A melancholic yet gritty poem from Michael with a rather city slicker fearful nostalgia concludes in an empathetic penultimate ending line.

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