I leave them hanging,
nothing to say.
An inattentive friend,
nothing to do
Why not then
erase limbs, body, head
No more games.
I wish I may, I wish I might
But can’t, truths
aren’t welcome. So I don’t answer
texts, return calls, and I leave
them on the gallows,
with nothing to say.
Whither Are We Drifting?
From my bedroom window I see
a poplar tree in the stronghold of a
thick, brown vine spiraling up its trunk.
I pour another ounce of brandy into my
morning cup of coffee, and wonder if
the tree is fine with a slow demise, too.
BIO: David Cranmer is the editor of the BEAT to a PULP webzine and whose own body of work has appeared in such diverse publications as The Five-Two: Crime Poetry Weekly, Needle: A Magazine of Noir, LitReactor, Macmillan’s Criminal Element, and Chicken Soup for the Soul. Under the pen name Edward A. Grainger he created the Cash Laramie western series. He’s a dedicated Whovian who enjoys jazz and backgammon. He can be found in scenic upstate New York where he lives with his wife and daughter.