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meager

Jack Henry

a shadow etches across cracked glass
spilt milk spoils
and rots on stapled concrete
my eyes reflect starlight
as i sit stooped in a corner

she sits low, broken piano
wire noose dangles
cupboards clatter,
a maze of pretension lights
doorways and torn canopies

transcendence denies entrance,
gates of hell
shiny from blood
and allegory
sometimes i try too hard,
but at least my feet
fit thrift store shoes

its been two days,
a little more
since crackling vines
danced electric waves
across cilia transceivers
knotted to pink flesh menageries

butterflies taste the sweet nectar,
from deepened folds
stamens make connections,
as gentle winds lift lies
and dandelions wastrels
across burning fields
of simple grandeur

my miner’s lamp sputters
through inky black departures
spelunking through caverns,
butterflies linger and
follow me down

i watch dreams tear at my future,
hearts chopped
thin with dullards axe,
my bag of gold empties
at the feet of desolate angels,
their grimy eyes smile

its been two days,
a little more
the torment of my sorrow softened
with the cadence of your voice

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