gray-black

last night

all the words erased

over and over and over

dionysius, visit these fingers

don't shatter the back window

like last time

levitate me over the glass

and all the other brokeness

i can't breathe in here

kurt cobain looks down

a hole

and sees me

heels clomping like hooves

over my tiny floor

the sound too big

for the place

don't snuff out my candle

like last time

an odd trick it was


but i fear not writing even more

am i possessed, mad, insane?

dream me a different dream

i close my eyes, still afraid

suddenly. i belong in my body

my fingers keep time

to the flickering

the guttering of the candle-

pull me out to the road

where the moon bellies low

and fat in the night sky,

full, illuminating crossing clouds

cross fox comes up

to sniff the tree

where i hung the bone

for the birds

then hung bread since

they didn't go for the bone,

and collected the bread back

to eat...watching the sky

ravens call out to the flock

at sunset-

no one knows where they roost

you see?

i can't talk about the sound

your heels make

or the fear desire that

charges thru my body

everytime i know you're there

i have to change

back to a human

it may never happen

again

that's the hardest of all

transformations

to make.


Comments 5 comments

moon 3 years ago

My gawd Girl! I'm quite stunned. One of your most powerful, cohesive poems. Absolutely turned me upside down. More later, after I rejoin planet Earth. Typo on Dionysius, methinks.


lilyfly profile image

lilyfly 3 years ago from Wasilla, Alaska Author

Thanks for the save w/ Dionysius. I'm so glaringly lazy sometimes! Hope all is well with you? Looking for Hyphenbird, will write her again... love yaz, oh, read Epi's stuff, Amy Becherer, Vincent Moore has a strong voice, and Fennelseed, a spare but true voice; I've got to look for her too... lily


Vincent Moore 3 years ago

A powerful piece of melancholia my poet. The darkness seeps in from time to time on all of us. I find the hole in my lives often, frantically trying to patch them to make some semblance of it all. Struggling I wallow in self-doubt, yet I am saved often by the winged one who nestles close by, my Muse ensures me that all will be alright as my life slips from grays to black and back to the light, for how long know one knows my poet, be at peace, let it out in words as you do. Release is important. Voted up and shared.


snakeslane profile image

snakeslane 3 years ago from Canada

I love the drama! And the sense of place:

"my fingers keep time

to the flickering

the guttering of the candle-

pull me out to the road

where the moon bellies low

and fat in the night sky,

full, illuminating crossing clouds"


lilyfly profile image

lilyfly 3 years ago from Wasilla, Alaska Author

Thank you Moore, Snakes, very much. Such approbation keeps me going, sure ain't the money, hehe! Love yaz, lily

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