Not Going Anywhere

i remember her
all in white
all dressed
but not going anywhere

she has a name
she gives herself
a little sip
of descartes

and jean paul-Sartre
and the rest
from whom

there is neither
entrance nor
exit

trapped. caught.
claustrophobic.
caustic. sour cream.
cranky

she wants
an immersion in murky
rivers

she cannot thing
of any place beyond
her or us

her hand reaches
for her hand
alone.

my atheist lover..

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!