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
Apples of the Earth
by Melissa Wiley
... What always matters more is the impression that lingers long after the apple has been eaten. What matters for me about any given person or object is the feeling that floats about its edges ...
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... Nothing is allowed here ...