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fifty miles from the interstate
in the middle of Black Rock Desert
riding on a rented bicycle
bound for Burning Man
stopping at the last phone booth
when the phone rings
within the absence of my shadow
and my lost soul
I let it ring five hundred times
before answering the calling cactus
from the motherboard of Burning Man
lighting up the booth one more time
after three hours of waiting
and trapped by the miseries of mystics
I heard her pause
then cough five hundred times
before turning off the lights
for the last time
11 comments:
Eerie... I like the repitition of five hundred times, it shows impatience.
a bit of a surreal feel to this wayne...def the 500 rings and 500 coughs...i think it would be interesting to be at burning man though...
500?
At least it's an even number.
rel
Intriguing response to the prompt, nice one.
Nice! Interesting play; love the desert and echoes- He isn't moving very fast if he time for all that listening! thanks.
I never let the phone ring more than 400 times. I'm funny that way. I'm not quite sure how to unpack this one...there's a lot in those few lines. I think I need ponder this a bit longer.
Wow! I love the references to the Burning Man. (I can't help, but think of "The Wicker Man" when I read that though.)
Nice piece!
Nice...
JJRod'z
Oh, I do so like this! Superb surrealism.
Very interesting. I'd hate to cough 500 times.
Really love the rhythm you created in this poem. Love how it opens too - very evocative description of the place. I felt like I was there in the Black Rock Desert.
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