by james (w) moore

I was
a house on fire
the peninsula blazing with
thin glints Turning
it was lit
it was wild
all the sound
blew the wires and made the lights go
he winked
toward me
like the World’s Fair,
eyes absent.
to some,
too late.
we take a plunge
I said
“I don’t want to put you to
any trouble.”
“I don’t want
to put you to any trouble, you see.”
the day     to-morrow         a moment
with reluctance:
We both looked
ragged ended and darker

Copyright james (w) moore, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: james w. moore is a writer of poetry, plays, and short stories. his poetry has appeared in the Found Poetry Review, the Silver Birch Press Noir Erasure Poetry Anthology, the Houston Chronicle and on Vermont Edition. five of his full-length plays have received world premieres, including original works such as cart (which American Theatre magazine called “a wonderfully surreal comedy”), and adaptations of Robin Hood and Rapunzel for the Northwest Children’s Theater. he was twice awarded residencies at Caldera Arts, and his one act play Ubu’s Last Krapp was featured as part of the End of the Pavement series. his work has been performed in Chicago (SOLO Festival), Seattle (On the Boards), Portland (Oregon—PICA’s TBA Festival and JAW), and in Burlington, Vermont. he currently lives and creates in Winooski, Vermont. his latest release is  I am the Maker of all sweetened possum: found poetry in Scarlet Sister Mary available at