“Silhouettes” by Rex Sexton


Drifter digs —
you open the door and flop into bed.
A single naked light bulb
hangs from a ceiling chain.
Devil shapes toss the room,
as its harsh light swings
with the window's wind.
Each night I hear the exiles
doing pratfalls in the dark.
They stagger back and forth
to the washroom down the hall;
or try to maneuver through their
tiny flops.
Across the alley a back street lounge
sleep streams until dawn.
Jazz and blues fill the night
with saxophones and wailing songs.
Silhouettes slow dance in the windows.
The music wraps the night in dream.
I hold you in a memory, while the
demons toss and the night's
ghosts scream.