Yard Sale of Thoughts

I lost my soul on the streets of Bangkok.

It went out prowling, 
said it’d just go 'round the block. 

It needed a squeeze
from a juice stand,
maybe a coffee, 
and a quick massage.

Said it hoped I’d understand,
but then it simply got lost.

Now, I'm frightened by the sound
of soi dogs,
             downpours,
                       baby prams and woks.

Senile and sessile,
I'm boiled rice—

leaf without stalk.

Abandoned in 
a forever equinox.

My heart a secure container,
a safety deposit box.

While my soul wanders the city,
key without lock.

©2025 | K. F. Hartless

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