Friday, August 23, 2013

The Doomsayer

He stands with the sign
the one that says:

the end is near.

He knows every fear
and every moment
every moment
every moment.

He took a temporary leave
a little over a year ago.
When the sun came out
in the bleak of winter.

Biding his time,
he broke a shadow
and found his old sign:

the end is near.

A grueling pace
for a now dying summer;
a snail’s pace
for the new face of humidity.

And the dreams here

The sign’s color is faded
and dusty:

the end is near.

You cried once,
and only once
on a gorgeous summer morning.

Unseasonably cool,
and the last day
before the world stopped turning.

the nightmares here

The sky holds its breath
and the furthest you can get
is dead where you stand.

The sign is your only forefront:

the end is near.

We lost everything.

Well one of us did;
scrambling to collapse
at least until the plague has passed.

But the death is all around us,
and he speaks in confident whispers
before a world upside-down.

He knew before it was gone.
He has reprinted a new sign:

the end is here.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Sadness with Mustard

but in the alone
and vast

where nightmares don’t end
after you awake.

Might we all assume
that this sobbing
means sorrow?

But this crushing

it rests on my tongue
behind my eyes
and entwined
in my stomach;

left me talking to any specter
or apparition
dumb enough
to haunt me

in the alone
and vast

and we need help.

Monday, August 5, 2013

Listening to Vanna in mid-December

If the roof caved in
eight years ago

then where have I been since?

Dreaming you back to life
in the most somber
of states of being

on the most melancholy
of nights.

And every middle –

I just had to die.

Sickening deep depressions
with the intensity
of a teenager’s broken heart.

If the rain had only
skipped a night

If you were merely
a memory

if you weren’t even that

when the roof caved in
eight years ago.