1 poem by Brian Le Lay

The Murderabilia Collector

I need to get my mind right
it's the moon's surface     a YA dystopian novel
under this xyz of overpasses
Everything has a feeling to me lately
My skeletal muscles move me
like a scheming mother's unseen pulleys
Am I the tin foil sheet in some vagabond jewel plot?
In the headlights of stopped cars
I cower like a runaway mutt
I want to breeze my clinical eyes
across the shell casings with the ease
& elegance of a southern woman
in white capris & blue flip flops or
Sandra Bullock in that movie about the football player
I should think more melodic thoughts
Root beer float     rock candy flower
How could we possibly conceal our love?
I speak for the trees & wouldn't you say
what you meant if you could make it sound
like your voice came from one of the mannequins?
Bullet hole through a book-pressed clover
Motel pillowcase     brown leather glove
Tomorrow I will see a man about a hearse