Bridges, A Refrain

 
The bridges I want belong to you: mud and burgundy.
                  So I am building, instead, in tinctures:
                  I’ve one of ribbon and one of rosemary. 
                  I know the streets are a solvent of vinyl and helix,
                  but the ratio eludes me. The algorithm, so elegant
                  and a little too indignant—I can’t quite grasp the tint of it.
 
A man with hair like heartache carries the hood
                  of a car. It is shelter and city and something
                  not dissimilar to silence. Behind them, a woman named
                  Gabe speaks into witches: 1, 2, 3-7-5. She’s
                  a consolation set to the pace of primes.
 
You settle into a shaft of song. Typeset bottles crumble
                  toward daylight. You’ve been months
                  at this, untraveling yourself along
                  pinewood petals and the scent of blue.


Sherre Vernon lives in Los Angeles, California. Her poetry has been published in various journals, including Ars Medica, Fickle Muses, Eclipse and The Pedestal Magazine. Green Ink Wings, her postmodern novella, won the 2005 chapbook award from Elixir Press. In 2008, The Name is Perilous, a poetry chapbook, appeared in Ruah.