floating and leaving no trace
the sun hangs angry and red
two hands above the horizon
like a sleepy devil’s eye
burning through smokey clouds
though soft and orange
i am punished for looking
it scars the inside eyelids
i see its echo when i close my eyes
i will see its echo
when i sleep
and dream blind
——
we saw no angels only
the aftermath of their
swords cutting the air
orange sunset through
clouds of distant smoke
and somewhere a single
dog barking
__________i hope someone
threw that loud bastard
a bone to calm him down
as for the angels–well
they can carve up heaven
as they see fit
there aren’t enough
actual souls down here
to complain about it
waiting in the airport
for the arrivals
but so is everyone here
two young women
lean over the walkway
one dressed for summer
one dressed for seduction
who are they waiting for
i wonder to myself
before i once again
let my phone distract me
but i keep returning to them
she’s dressed in a way
that means someone
is getting lucky tonight
finally he appears
some young adonis
swarthy to her pale skin
all smiles when she rushes
and leaps into his arms
wrapping her legs around his waist
while she kisses him
and her summer friend
dutifully records this reunion
with her phone
i wonder if she’s bitter
that she’s holding the phone
or is she happy for her friends
knowing that she’ll be driving
while tangle up in the back seat
these hands hurt
when the knuckles squeeze
together
like old, emaciated hobos
hugging
all bones and angles
but in the clay
they feel nothing
but the clay
Hey, you should head over to the open mic page for July RIGHT NOW because I just added two new readings. One about a monster who might just be an angel of mercy, and another a trip down memory lane. You’ll have to go to the page to see them.
And WHILE YOU’RE THERE, feel to leave a comment, and consider making a donation to my crusade to fill up this summer with the voices of poets.
the outside should be hard
the inside soft
like a marshmallow wrapped
in a tortoise shell
once used to foretell the future
something fatty
something greasy
something brittle that will
shatter between my molars
i long to grind it up
powder the marrow
against my teeth
saving the last part
the blood part
for the end
when the eighth month comes
there will be hunger
——
light catches it
like morning sun
on a single spiderweb strand
blown glass stretched so thin
it sings every time we breathe
connecting us
more frail than
sun-bleached bird bones
sudden movements
scare you like a nervous cat
so i mirror you
match your speed
and keep this thin tendril
from bending
from shattering
today the trend is all
self-healing polymers
but these inevitable shards–
will they go back together
get stronger
more flexible with mending
or will we just end up
with bloodied fingers
——
the moon is cut
perfectly in half
my only companions are the crickets
and they hesitate
when they hear my footsteps
bitter black moon
boils shadows and
ships hot red diamonds
worship is an apparatus
a tongue, a whisper
——
for
Elusive Trope
Magnetic Poetry Saturday Challenge
Oracle on the (Virtual) Refrigerator
so many dead
so easy to pretend they sleep
they feel no pain
suffer no longer
at the hands
of any reality
or any nightmare wrought
by human hands
but sleep they do not
for the sleeping do not howl
do not ask why
do not fill up the earth
with their bones
the sea with their ashes
what prayers
will reach
which god first
——
response to
The Daily Post
Daily Prompt: Nightmare
and the world as it is
Words and Feathers 