Searches

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Not quite summer and I have begun
the search; bounty hunter of questionable bounty,
My eyes are sherrifs with bad warrants, unlawful paperwork.
Everyone is scrutinized, like luscious white mice.

Not quite summer, and the investigations are alive;
the vanquishing exists in the air, on the street. My yearnings are bad cops
dressed as good ones. Main Street you are doomed.
Baltimore Blvd, I'll take you as my black tar prisoner.
Washington St in Gettysburg--you are my new tawdry friend.
This will be a deliciously playful encumbrance.

Some searches die, without satisfaction.
Some culprits are never caught.
Daily, a prisoner escapes into a molecular freedom.
I will chance it, the exquisite taker of risks.

My eyes have played the undressed game;
they peer--they uncover. They undress so many.
They repeat, they repeat.
They search. They rarely sleep.


© Lamont Palmer

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