Indiana Verses II - pt. 6-10, poetry by Rando Mithlo at Spillwords.com
Ginger Jordan

Indiana Verses II

Indiana Verses II

pt. 6-10

written by: Rando Mithlo

@Rodhnoe

 

Little Egypt & The Troll bridge

With cloak of dark overhead
What is this seven-foot dread
Yellow River through groves of green
Stand your ground
Don’t turn to me

Car rocking with the door ajar
Graffiti on the railing warned
Gravel thrown raining a sting
Stand your ground
Don’t act so weak

Peeled from the shadows outlined
Made of fury to unleash
Headlight beams crossed in the mist
Reserve your fear
Our litmus test

Blinded by this reckless blur
Pent-up force that no one sees
Stunned you must concentrate
It’s hard to watch
Don’t be so faint

Grow or regress
It won’t go away

 

The Hook Man Of Rising Sun

My friend’s Idea
We agreed
He bailed on me
Too naïve
Recreation to release
The helpless feeling hangs on me

In Rising Sun for a week
Seems forever
Too naïve
A thump in darkness
My camp bunk stirred
The Hook man’s coming
For your blood
Who can save us
There’s only one

For our redeeming
First understand
Something so far from your grasp
The face on your shirt
I could see that
Go through the motions
It’s too bad

Ride onward home
Half-empty
Is it pointless
Too naïve

 

At A Payphone In Osceola

Been driving off a folded map
Expect all good falls in my lap
To perpetuate a fallacy
You’re tall and blonde and into me

A fragile course that couldn’t wait
A loveless youth, a past to hate
With ice on this road and down in me
You’d spiraled into a barren tree

Piling up like firewood
Got away with what I could
Whereabouts made you worried
Had to give up before you did

Desperate and hesitant
So certain to regret
In snow spinning wheels
Couldn’t be ourselves

A year gone by as flurries blow
In Osceola at a payphone
When you’d appear out of the cold
Told you almost died months ago

Asked for this you enter aware
Cold bed beside a space heater
Glowing in our ambiguity
The palest ghost that I’ll ever see

 

Auburn Crossroads

Called late summer
Prompting a sort of reckoning
All of these years
How I’ve been, not easy to say
You’re dropped off there
Auburn just an hour away
To drive you home
Wherever that may be today

Bound to nostalgia
Is this what I need
To go minimalist
Removes or impedes
Arrive at this crossroads
Wait for winds to push me

Sat on your pack
At the museum parking lot
Brotherly wave
Few possessions are all you’ve got
On the way back
To some unknown destination
Filling my car
Your one-sided conversation

Let thoughts sink in
Observations we can’t evict
From your attic
From the pit of my basement
To a truck stop
You’ll meet your next ride there
On I’ll return
To the dark middle of nowhere

 

Menominee’s Deadline

Council called no room to spare
With the spirit signs believed
Promises and a whiskey cask
For to ease decision making

All this they say
But as you know
Trust not the men
Who fear your own
Said everything has its price
In the name of security
Deep in the soil, in the soul
Value inherent beyond reach
A hawk on the grave
Not to be ignored
Resistant a band
Incessant the hordes

The deadline passed temper resolute
Blamed for problems they made
Fall in line swept to the Osage
Homecoming ever forbade

 

READ PT. 1-5 HERE

Rando Mithlo

Rando Mithlo

-Artist and Writer from Los Angeles currently living in Indiana- the bulk of my writings are short stories and poems that deal with a range of subjects including: emotional distress, strange happenings, thrillers and suspensestories.
Rando Mithlo

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