Saturday, July 21, 2012

waiting for rain

and all afternoon the slow grinding
roar of factories pumping out
blood and despair and
all afternoon the stench of gasoline and
burning cars carried in on a steady
wind from the south

all afternoon the
sky a luminous silver, a delicate
shade of purple and the hills all
smudged & blurred against it

the sun at uncertain intervals

the tentative shadows of bare trees
across well-manicured lawns

when did you become so
fucking afraid of everything?

widow poem 1

silver sun in a
bone-white sky, which makes it
easy to confuse living
with being alive

helps the pills go down easier,
but the hands are still cold

the suicides refuse
to give up their beliefs

won’t laugh, won’t cry,
won’t give me any reasons
for what they’ve done

just stand their bleeding
onto all of my poems