Background traffic

Background traffic
rushes constant
witching hour holds
its secrets, close to the chest
as pocket aces
on a table, full
to the brim with suckers

night yellowed
sodium lights splash
upon pavement
parked cars of black,
or blue, perhaps green
thank god the police
aren’t asking for a description

soon the cliche will come
that it is darkest before dawn
despite that being
demonstrably untrue,
a diplomatic term for

The great and the terrible

It wasn’t pretty, avert your eyes
torn in half, one part blessed
by the almighty good
to lead the world
scourge the sinners
a new Age
a new Dawn

one cursed
by inane chance
to starve, to waste
slew the righteous
a new Hell
a new Dark

If I am not both
I am nothing
I am the cursed, the blessed
anointed, imprisoned
leading, starving, wasting
slew, scourged
in glory, in damnation
in the light
I am also the dark.

All or nothing
The great and
the terrible.

So it is,
so it shall be.

owls among me

In the darkness of the room; I am surrounded by owls

sighing with their blue-white eyes as they sit on tables, shelves, and ceilings

they gaze;

but yet they do not see.

No fault of mine for I know not where

in what factory, in what nation they took their sight; yet

I wonder, in the obsidian winter beyond these walls,

who are you, owl of mine?

Can you think, or are these numbers upon you a tattoo

left by an elder long since past away;

can you smile, or is this happy expression merely a mind contemplating

for a few minutes too long;

And can you feel, or do your memories hold no tulips, no zinnias, no tours around

a field, coyly gazing at an owl sweetly returning your gaze

Bedside owl, I do not know what sorrow you hold, what joy.

But I love you, if it means anything.