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Thursday, December 24, 2015

2:00 AM


2:00 AM

No dogs bark at this hour,
Desolate, an abandoned field burnt by the sun,
Dry shaving curls on a workshop floor long unswept.

Harsher than sawing wood, a motorcycle
Rips along a distant road, popping
Explosions in small packets sputtering
Bits of shrapnel, broken teeth,

Busted rivets, chopped up brittle, pits, tracers, short-lived sparks.
Slowly silence thickens, concrete putty sealing joints and crevices
Of a room deafening to the slightest vibration,
Hardening gradually, spiral candy.

The world is asleep, I am awake.
Passing time heaves, a resting animal.
Dimly, a behemoth of swarming thoughts like fireflies drifts past.
I wait steadfastly, a metal tool seeking the warm grasp of a skillful hand.

Now is the moment to enter into stillness
Deep as cloisters enfolding underground rivers,
Delicate as a tissue by the slightest cough perforated.

Before the smallest particle of noise tears like flint into gossamer darkness,
I will take long draughts, cupping my hands descending as birds into the springs of tranquility.



Street lamp at night

3 comments:

  1. Public domain photo

    Photo link: https://pixabay.com/p-1589134/?no_redirect

    Gonzalinho

    ReplyDelete
  2. Longer version of poem by the same title

    Gonzalinho

    ReplyDelete
  3. The above version of the poem was published in The Ekphrastic Review (May 21, 2018).

    Gonzalinho

    ReplyDelete