“When night comes black”*

Tattered feathers matted with carrion,
poisonous blood & a gland beneath the
                                    tongue
containing venom waiting to be sprayed
into the face of innocent creatures:

a hideous specimen, we should not
refrain from judgment; look & see
what it really is:

                a mistake.

Let it die unmourned, like morning worms
                            without the worth;
nothing can be birthed from this thing.

Watch it’s shaking skull cage, let the taloned
brain starve in it’s rage & let the last blood –
drop of it’s heart fall from self-inflicted
wounds into the dark,

                        unnoticed…

…& stop reading:

                stop writing,

just

stop.

*The Shrike Sylvia Plath

King Panic

With so many questions lacking answers
& too many others
            lacking comfort,
& the days slipping past us
                faster & faster,

once again King Panic* wins:

thin layer of foil beneath the skin**,
            & as if in a dream
wind contributes to the scene:

the rain hard & wild against the window,
& the Sun fleeing the grey sky
as tired eyes
            shrink from the fading light.

Sullen shudders of self-awareness &
            the contemplation
                
            of desperate measures.

Sensing this,
            the tachhyonic voltage
running between us
            prompts you to ask
“What’s wrong?” & though
I fail to convey it to you
through speech,
language is not all that we need
for us both to believe
that the other understands:

the calm of your hand against my neck
            slowly
                    returns me,
& the questions no longer matter:

without an answer
there can be no question to begin with;
in silence, there is peace

                    in silence

there is the strength to start again.

* Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams – Sylvia Plath
** Leaving the Atocha Station – Ben Lerner