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This night is made of solids
The shadows play hooky with the wisps
and the boiling black snores,
still sleeping.
Inside starlight's razored rims
seethe chunks of darkness -
banging, crumbling,
stewing.
Liquefaction called in sick.
Gobs of gravelly morning
morph,
dicing the vacuum of color,
dancing on the sleeping strips of moonlight.
I sit alone -
melting among the hard edges.I am::  lethargic Polyphonic requium:: beautiful, scandalous night - smalltown poets |
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The night is moldy.
We are together,
you and I,
without pretensions or presumptions
or even a hint of fabrication.
The hateful hiss of misery
murmurs in our souls like a
stark lullaby;
and our thoughts are bare,
stripped of spark.
Nakedness is easy,
so we lie, reposed in ailing blankets
of grass and old dust,
counting the categories of death.
The stars cough, sick -
like our hearts.I am::  discontent Polyphonic requium:: every night's another story - the early november |
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