Good Emanations

By Mark Simpson

Whatever they are, I’m sending them your way,

right now, eyes closed for better aim,

a micro-meter sub-atomic process, plucked and

strummed, almost music from me to you.

This isn’t spectral stuff I’m talking about,

no toe-tapping, table-thumping Ouija-board

carnival antics, no gaseous product

of radioactive disintegration.

I ignore the woodpecker boring

another hole in the clapboard siding,

the tea kettle’s whimper, the phone’s ring.

I concentrate on you, the last images

of you growing dim, you in the hallway,

putting on your coat, the car’s brake lights flashing

red red red and then you’re gone,

but not me, I’m transmigrating those vibes,

a virtual palindrome the reads good

either way you look.

Photo credit: Dialog Center Images via Creative Commons




About the author:

Mark Simpson's work has appeared in a number of magazines. He won the Rhea & Seymour Gorsline Poetry Competition from Bedbug Press in 2008 for A Poised World. Chapbooks include Fat Chance, Finishing Line Press, 2013. He works at a smallholding on Whidbey Island, Washington state.