Month: January 2016

The Glow

Death, I picture is much like

walking toward

a single street-

light

from a path,

black deep.

And noise

isn’t noise

but notes.

And the light isn’t light

but the absence of

the dark.

And shivers hit you all over.

Not from cold,

but strange joy.

And once more you remember

the burden it was

to cast a shadow.

 

And it’s something like

the impossibly quick

frame

between dreaming

and waking,

that is so fast that

it’s hard to imagine,

but must exist all the while.

 

Then if you die with priests at your bed

the venue will swarm

and pick your bones clean of a soul,

pray and regurgitate.

So angels like baby birds will devour you once more.

 

And if you die by your love

your soul will travel in them.

For that is the heaven you know

 

And if you die by your enemy’s hand,

at least

you’re not alone.

 

And if you die alone,

then

I am

sorry,

and so should we all

be.

 

We were never one,

though people like to say it,

but desolate,

isolated

things.

Unless we

found each other

in the dark.

 

I’m sorry

I never

found

you.

 

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The Snakes Were Hushful

When we got together

people wanted to talk to me.

People who never wanted to talk to me before.

 

Snakes

 

Slowly, I’m starting

to think,

there aren’t

many

who aren’t.

 

Still, we were together,

and i was something.

But she watched too much television,

and I stared too deep

into the window,

and with little to

say to each other,

it expired.

And the snakes were hushful again.

 

I wanted to hurt,

but in honesty, I felt better

than I had

in a long, long time.

 

We just stopped and went on alone,

unscathed.

It was nice.

 

We were like ghosts

that stumbled through each other.

Richmond

Before I left my home town

after we’d all been there far too long,

everything  good,

it begin to gently rock and sit askew,

like the peach with the worm inside.

And though it is really a very pretty place

there have been suicides,

and there will be suicides.

And the night sky is deeper than any other place I’ve been.

 

We were close friends

but slowly, In small ways, we turned on each other,

doing bad things Just to see what it felt like.

Sick,

and artless,

and stuck.

But now when I go back there

everything they do, or say is poetry.

 

Last time I was in town

they told me about two local boys.

One, with his friends, stole the other’s cocaine.

So he, with his friends,

snapped his legs.

Now his friends, and friends of theirs want revenge.

Wherein lies a problem in such a small place,

because friends of his friends, are friends with his friends, friends.

 

Then they showed me this

thick legged, butcher of a spider they’d captured under a measuring glass,

suspended in frosty lines.

Pure evil in a jug cup.

I wondered, did it know it was caught at all?

They said his name was Bruce.

Bruce had been in training.

They’d been catching flies and smaller spiders,

and placing them in there with him.

Sixty days and nights they were sacrificed,

Strung up, and gutted ashen.

Bruce, they told me, had tripled in size.

Then they introduced me to Titus.

Titus is a bruiser, they said.

It was true, he was a killer.

A sooty death hand in a mason jar.

He and Bruce were to be pitted against one another

under the jug.

 

It was all so excitingly cruel.

I wanted to tell them to let them go,

but they wouldn’t have,

so I didn’t.

 

I had to leave before the fight was scheduled.

It would have been an interesting thing to see.

I’m still waiting to hear how it all turned out

with the stolen cocaine, and the feuding boys.

With Bruce, and Titus the Bruiser.

It’s likely they’ll forget to tell me

but it doesn’t matter all that much.

 

One will devour the other,

and the victor will be alone

again,

under his cold glass sky; No Horizon.

Then the victor,

the victor will die too.

And I wonder, do they know they’re caught at all?