Two Poems

Poetry by David Anson Lee

Ward of Unclaimed Hours

The hospital keeps no patients past midnight.
Only forms misremembering pain.

A nurse files silence
between monitor beeps.

Outside, sirens pass
as thoughts refusing ownership.

Room 7 still holds heat
without a body.

The janitor mops
around invisible footprints
that return
to where they began.

Inventory of Neon Aftermaths

The city counts itself in reflections.
No face survives alone.

Outside the bodega,
oranges smell faintly
of bleach and rain.

Subway air arrives first,
then the train,
late as confession.

Above us, one light
hesitates to remain human.

We keep walking
as if motion absolves.

BIO: David Anson Lee is a physician, philosopher, and widely published poet whose work appears in Right Hand Pointing, Unbroken Journal, The Scarred Tree, Braided Way, Eunoia Review, and other literary journals. Born on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota and now based in Texas, he writes at the intersection of landscape, memory, and perception, often exploring how place shapes consciousness under conditions of beauty, strain, and violence. Check out his Substack at davidalee.substack.com.