poetry
Comment 1

The Good Darkness

image

At this time, we are unable
to provide status updates for
previously reported outages.

Something about the smell of rotten food
that makes you recognize privilege–
that you could have all this, sitting,
and not think to buy cooler. Buy ice.

Something about looking at clocks
in the store, imagining nuanced tickings
and tockings keeping you awake,
being disappointed there is not one
with two bells for ears and
the closest thing you can find
to what you need is too fashion
magazine, too simple
masquerading as avant-garde,
too white.

Something about candles–
driving home from aisles empty of
flashlights to see flickering yellow
against windows, taking off clothes
to sounds of shadows dancing
on walls, Black Wings and Blind Angels
by black gem of blue hue
being read to moon’s music
courting fire.

Something about trees
made horizontal by the hands
of the earth herself, death
in plain view, roots older
than you will ever be plucked up
as though string in cat’s hand, you
made to remember
all that is life.

This entry was posted in: poetry

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