Saturday, 3:30am

Down in the graveyard,
Behind my grandpa’s stone,
I saw a glint in the eye of a demon.
His teeth white under the moon,
He tuned a fiddle of bleached bone
Strung with fresh sinew

And I asked the demon
“Did you know my grandpa?
When you think of him, does your fiddle whine?”

And he said, “No, I didn’t know the man.
I didn’t know his smile,
Or the sour notes that rode his breath as he praised you.
I know only that this headstone
—reaching as it does for falling stars—
Casts the deepest shadows over the rest.”

With a sigh, the demon ran his bow across taut flesh
And it hissed,
And sent ravens into the sky.

Advertisements

A Forest

Vines grow fierce along the edge of every whim
Each notion pulls with it twelve other seedlings
That ripen and bulge and invite
The neighbors into your kitchen

You may believe that islands stand individual
Warriors of solitary purpose projected toward the sun
But each base gloms onto the earth
Thirsty, without the benefit
Of advocacy

We live in sagging huts
Blankets between you and us and
Songs that slip across the great expanse
Harsh whispers to the untrained ear

Myths stand under the stars, not thee
Lips pursed in quiet judgment as gods titter
Come home to roost among queer birds
On branches beaten from the finest
Silver

Maps will not illuminate you
As unfathomable as the ebb of the cosmos
Ever collapsing onto one point of light, screaming
The bleat of midnight, the call of darkness unbidden

If every day was like Christmas

If every day was like Christmas,
I’d jump into the sea.
I’d sink down through the deep dark depths
‘Til there was nothing left of me.

I’d let my spirit float away
Beyond the great, yawning divide
That keeps us from eternity,
Holding us pris’nor, trapped, resigned

To endless thoughts of what’s ahead,
Rather than what we have, instead,
Because despite our weak’ning cries,
We don’t believe in God.

And while so many drop in prayer,
Prostrate themselves before the glare
Of naked sky, of empty rooms,
That simply won’t reveal the flaws

Intrinsic to such bitter kneeling,
Sad escape from depth of feeling
That might finally release
Both of us from unnat’ral laws,

Others look behind the stars,
See nothing but deserts on Mars,
And know that that should be enough
To drive us to each other’s arms.