Poem-A-Day #261 : Insecurity

Insecurity

The ashes smear across the windshield
a sort of dark rain
                    coal as performance

Poem-A-Day #228 : Night

Night

all in your head : the twisting blackness is

wood caves in itself : fire is hollowing

the children's faces darken : coal smoke ash everywhere

Poem-A-Day #224 : Path

Path

Paths don't know where they go
          they lay themselves down over and over and they end up
     where they do

They take us in the night          they are kidnappers and thieves

          One can find themselves in the garden of judgement
when they thought they were out for a stroll in the country
          the gates of hell
                    fling themselves open at the merest whisper

The rotting corpse of a child will throw a ball to a rotting dog
both          will smile up into the face of their guest
and will take their hand and never let go -


And the path that led there will not even notice what it has done
                                                  it will just keep sending travelers
                                                  into the grinder

Poem-A-Day #205 : Journeys End in Lovers Meeting

Journeys End in Lovers Meeting

                    I need your help
                                        in the dark
                                  somehow

                    this formed itself
together                    into a great powerful pattern

          it reared its
great head against the sky          that we cannot see

in the dark somehow
          I need your hands          to locate

                                   the badness
                           
                             I cannot even hear you
                   but the hands          touching

               in the dark
the stones                    the rough sandpaper sounds
of the air in the trees
          of the nails on the nails

I need your help
          in the dark                   somehow
                                         please

Poem-A-Day #187 : 3AM

3AM

When the street goes quiet
the late darkness seems to fill the world
in an unmoving

I imagine trying to cross it

Once you open the door into it the quiet will grab you
will probably strip you of faculties
your body will become a tree in winter

Like quicksand perhaps

Sliding your entire body into clay
or mud or the leftover oatmeal from this morning
and then it will harden over you