The list goes on.
Cry me out a layer
thick and salty
Digging beneath walls
like Berlin. And I am east,
so far east.
Hiding in hollowed out car seats,
deplumed and desperate.
Save me from razor blade
wired fence, made of mind
and kind. Thrashing aside
long boat river bullets
Bloated and blind
drifting to the bitter Atlantic.
Weeping at the roll call.
editors note: Names not called; nowhere to go when the last doors close. (We welcome D.A. to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of her madness on her new page - check it out.) - mh clay
We are becoming smaller again.
The soul of a mouse,
hiding inside the walls of this house.
Time doesn’t matter
and time isn’t waiting.
Time simply turns to water.
It’s wasting us down
dripping carving watering
waiting in a basement.
And so the wasting begins.
All around us thin and waning,
shouldering cobwebs shuddering.
Shrinking, scratching for crumbs
or a thimble of water.
Hiding from the light stretching
behind the walls of this house.
Squeezing into a hole smaller.
Inventing tiny dreams
that could fit into a matchbox bed.
editors note: Enough to make a quiet mouse want to roar. - mh clay
We hit the high line on the horizon
passing pines and oaks
with tattered arms outstretched.
A tragic trajectory.
And the stars winced while the moon rolled over
out of sight and mind.
We crashed through leaves upon fingertips
too wooden to break from their ache
and snatch a shirttail or sleeve.
Gravity bound as we were.
And then there was the ground
scattering us, shattering us
into a million different people and places.
We never knew we could be
so proud and desperate,
so separate from who we were.
Now beneath the trees
beating the dust from our hats,
gathering up our skirts to knees.
Striking out, newborn captains of destiny.
editors note: While some celebrate a particular birth, let's all celebrate our own rebirth with every dawn. - mh clay