2am In Jersey

A Poem by Douglas Caraballo

Photo by Sonder Quest on Unsplash

The faded leather of a blue couch from the 70’s,
in the backyard of my dreams — of memory.
Clouded and drifting, wine drunk, through
a road in New Jersey at 2 am,
listening to music, glazed by blue.

These moments are all Soul.

Pure and unfiltered, the quivering motions
of being. Unaware — quaking,
trembling, with hairs on end,
and voices running backwards
through my mind.

The elder stares at the whole.
There is rhythm to the drunk,
a kind of patterned story ark
that landed me here,
where I sit now, waiting for the snow
to wash over a barren city.

The sanctity of the ice,
in blue, garnishing the rivers edge,
and the laughter that scores the scene.

Here,
within the radius of my youth.