Fictional Nights

Fictional Nights
by Noah Gordon

“Make time for me” she whispers, as the clouds flee.

Forgetful trains remain unseen,

as light leaves through woods beam

but all anyone really wants to hear is

‘make time for me’.

The knee-crippling power of your eyes have

no effect here

(we’re two miles out of your


out past the torch-lit diner

where you first tried to explain

the inner-workings of

speak and spells

but before

the spot where we

buried your pet turtle,


I remember that night well,

digging that shallow grave under

a moth-eaten sky.

Afterwards, we got coffee,

and pie, but we didnt eat.

How could we eat?

2 thoughts on “Fictional Nights

  1. I like “digging that shallow grave under a moth-eaten sky” and what follows, but can’t make much of the rest. Maybe someone else can help.

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