Friday, April 14, 2017

Nightmare Honey

You’ve been drinking
McCormick black pepper
at midnight again haven’t you?

There is no left
or wrong –
a bunny by the vandals.

Hands in your lungs:
most beautiful tart
killed her.

The silence juxtaposed
cicada swamp growling
November 66, 1998.

And want says to reach out
but my ear has a pulse
and drank. Too many

left turns towards
murky autumns are springing
over white crested cliffs.

Some are her and some are summer;
you don't win or win her
when winter is winning her over.

Maybe spring me summer
or fall into spring.
Win some of her winters

or win summer winters;
some are stars summer stars.
The sum of her stars stirring starlight.

Look back and lose another.