by Michael Roque
A provincial girl,
her state is vegetative
as the moors she walks.
Voices beg. Plead! Don’t wade into that bog. You. Will. Sink. But she walks in again and again. Born, dead, reborn and dead again. Ears firmly closed to the echoes, the calls for reason spanning months…years, while she’s on a treadmill running herself exhausted toward an ideal, till again, her scotch-taped heart crumbles into shards, smashed and shattered. Now her heart is broken open to what really matters.
A provincial girl,
like cities never sleeping,
her state is awake
Michael Roque is born and raised in Los Angeles and discovered his passion for poetry and prose among friends on the bleachers of Pasadena City College. Now residing in the Middle East, he draws inspiration from the bustling, tumultuous life around him. His work has appeared in literary magazines and anthologies worldwide, including award-winning publications such as North Dakota Quarterly, The Queen’s Review, The Roanoke Rambler, Poetry Super Highway, and many others.
Hawaii Pacific Review 