by April 19, 2023 0 comments

every room in this house is on fire
every second and pace of my hermitage
is for God or you
the card you pull,
and the inkblot night
soaking into the blues and marrow,
is a dream of us
we can stalk ourselves through
the loud lights of town and
this game I’ve made being cursed
give me rush and purchase to you
phantom entrée and feral pass
to the wilds of you, clearings deep
in the woods of you
and the lake there
above your sex and just behind your heart
I take to
humming a mother’s circular song of duty
killing everything our fathers failed to
and truly running out the expansive self
drinking black coffee and laughing
as the day breaks and the sun insists
on rising over all our work and ruin

editors note:

Here’s a love like an honest day’s work. (We welcome Jim to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

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