2 Poems
Into the Mist
Frost crackles
beneath your stagger until
you stop,
stock-still,
surrounded by plinks
of picks,
whispers rippling
through mist:
nothing’s as
nothing as
it should be
none of this
none of this
should exist
Nocturne
The lantern creaks
on its hook.
Rats gnaw in the attic.
Your brain throbs
like a feeding tick
as you reach
to bolt the door
to winter’s ravage,
to wolves you feel
watch you sleep.
Other Works
The Forgotten Room
by Matt Schumacher
... The light flickered on their faces / As if they'd long expected me ...
On the Stick-Thin Person Wearing a Baggy Black Hoodie with a Big-Ass Skull on the Back
by Tim Neil
... We think skeletons are cool / because we are so used ...