Mournful
Ghosts of mist
Float lazily silver
Through neat beams of streetlight: New moss
Softens
The sidewalk
A stag alone in the parking lot
Eats from pharmacy’s tree
Some dim star falls:
Space station
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Tag Archives: #mirrorcinquain
As Above
Stars at
Fiesole
Above gold Firenze
A caraffe, olive oil, and bread
Alone
Tables
Vacant and still in patient rows
Between the heavens and
The city of
Dante
gas station
wet fuel
giant scratch-offs
cigarette packs: rainbows
anthropologies of litter
candy
credit
two men cranking old slot machines
arsenals of soda
a beer walk-in
no air
Clocking
I stare
At one minute
Becoming a new one
Do you play by your own rules, time?
I glare
I ask
Do you slow when I’m not looking?
And minute on minute
Unblinkingly
Time nods
Vanities
We were
Two vanities
We had the tension of
Two mirrors facing away from
Each other
Had we
Exchanged our bodies by magic
With minds in opposite
Faces, we’d have
Been fine
Amnoikos
Standing –
Actually
Looking around – inside
Of some withering memory
Can prove
Scary:
Parts and wholes all mixed and mangled,
Branches where limbs once swung,
Boiling solids,
Tattered
Liquids
(Were furniture)
Dim in the living room;
Red as blood because it is blood
((Not real
Brain blood))
Close friends and strange people twining,
Combining, but all wrong.
And finally
It’s gone
||
cats’ eyes
blood succulents
rain from a cloudless night
a dead fountain full of pennies
cave mouths
old malls
some dead man’s last annotations
rousing to a grey day
wet plastic bags
snakes’ tongues
, never mind.”
“Okay
Supposedly
I stopped tripping but like
No no no no no no no, wait
What if
Okay
What if I never stopped tripping
No, hey seriously
What if I’m late
For work
Or bed
Like if I’m young
I’m out past curfew
Or whatever okay I mean
I feel
What if
Like what if I need to go home
Or else I’ll be trapped here
And pronounced dead
Fuck it,
the sacrifice of a toxic person
as one
soul out of eight
watchers, i am the
black butterfly mister death would
shudder
to eat
to lay him down for one weird day
when all earthbeasts and
earthoceans live
not die
days
chatter,
hypothetic
conversations in mind,
the talking spirits ceaselessly
distract
from peace
of mind enough to stop and hear
the forest getting on
together, as it has
for days
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