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 Three-Breasted Carol
by James Reidel
... of having to look but do not touch, even / though he could feast his eyes upon her flesh every time she / bared it to nurse the thing ...
2 Poems
by Samuel T. Franklin
... Decay is nothing new. We’ll all taste / graveyard dirt and suck rainwater / from dark yew roots ...