More on: Poetry

With a mechanical click,
The light ceases,
Leaves you deep-keeled in darkness.

Yes to mortal love and anguish.

Death is so awkward.

Sometimes I think my soul is like a fist
that on occasion opens.

I need her like I need the falseness
of my own voice explaining death to a toddler.

A baby raven calls to me by the window. I’m high in the morning again.

I held the glass I’d only just emptied
Up to my nose: I wanted another, and another,

Of the angels I slaughtered to get here
I miss cigarettes the most.

Your children drive away and the river runs dry.

God bless the man whose brow greases
the glass when he naps or despairs.