In the Garden

Poetry

There are no dragons here.

Abandon abandoned her children here,

where the moon howls

and they returned to eat her, there was

nothing else to eat.

Hope dangles on her broken strings here.

Twelve-bar blues and lungs collapse here.

The singing is silenced here.

Malice dances in the heat shimmer,

trees snap,

the tide pulls back to safer depths,

not here.

Here is the banquet, here

the patina of listlessness, here

the bones and the gristle and here

the soggy heart.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s