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Stranger in a Strange Town


 

 

Stranger in a Strange Town


Midnight down by the railroad tracks, she stood
weeping, windswept hair, dancing in humid lullaby
breeze.

She asked me

Stranger in Town? Is this where love goes to die?


Is this where love goes to die? Down by fading
Americana's dream? Pink paint, peeling layers
mournful black skyline, mingling with her onyx
mascara.

Wolf's howling, browning stalks of corn swaying
like a nightmare serenade.

I dreamed of her reaching out towards me, standing
silent, down by rusted tracks and dilapidated farm
houses that hovered like ghosts in graveyard symphony.

I appeared from out of nowhere, the stranger in a strange
town, murky river mocking the hereafter, of what could
have, or what may have been something far more beautiful,
than we ever could have imagined.

 

Wayne Russell

 

Wayne Russell is a creative writer that was born and raised in Tampa, Florida.
Wayne is the founder and former editor and chief of Degenerate Literature.
Sadly, due to unforeseen circumstances and time restraints, DL closed in late 2017.
Wayne's poetry, short stories, and photography have been widely published both
online and in print.

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1 Comments

  1. This could be one of the best poems this journal ever published.

    Larry Hultet

    ReplyDelete