the night has long fingers, pulls me
down into its darkness, pushes
my friends away on trains and buses
to distant cities I no longer love, takes
away the things I do, throws me into
walls and windows and sad memories
makes the birds scream and ghosts dance
shows me red glowing eyes, makes me see
Death hung over them all like gauze wrappings
confuses, belittles
makes nothing of tangible moments, makes
animals of humans, makes thin air
a choking thing to suffocate straining lungs
Erases screams, Erases
You
and You
and You
when I try to keep the pictures in form...
the night has long fingers, closing over
my missing hands, my missing heart
that still beats somehow, that hammers
wildly against the walls of bone
and flesh, and breaths are too hard to
take
and take
and take
over and over again through the smoke
but I make myself take them, even when
there is no reason to take another
or believe another or risk another
pushing me along... the night has fingers
without form, and I have form without feeling
anything but gone, but I am not gone yet
I remain as steadily vacant as the night
and my fingers stretch like heaven
for things that are lost and gone
to hold myself in daylight, to hold on
like the pictures I captured
when I couldn't capture
You
and You
and You
and make this world your home...
the night has long fingers, and they place
quarters over blind eyes, they smooth
sheets and make warm beds cold, they close
over me like a bird imprisoned, and carry
me carefully along.
|
Submission Name: what midnight owns
