Saturday Poem


At the center of beautiful women
who do not love us
burns a white flame.

We are machines
that consume and desire and wont
for such abiding loneliness

that to invite it
is to extract blossoms from the rain.
I am the elevator that opens

on each floor in the metal
hotel of your heart.
And on hearing the laughter

down the endless
hallway, I press a button
and slide shut my doors.

by Darren Morris
from The 2River View
Spring 2015