04.23.97

Love's call
was more like a freight train,
barrel assing along at about 60,
two feet in front of my face.
The rush & heat
daring me
to step into its blur

&, I did, didn't I?

Stigmata

We haven't spoken in 3 years
but, tonight,
you call
to tell me
that the bruise
which I then often wore
and knew so well
has this day blossomed
on your lower lip.

I don't know what to tell you.

Maybe, someone is speaking
through you.

John Carton is a photographer living in New England. He's written poetry for the past 15 years and has finally decided that his words are beginning to approach the starkness and simplicity of his photographic vision. This is his first 'web' publication.