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Murky Black
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Unpublished pieces Stillness: escaping from the bottle
left deserted in a corner of the room.
You deny, and so do I, that anything
has happened to our gnawing love.
Surface: it is calm and at rest for
anybody who looks in this direction .
Testimony of ecstasy freely offered
to the haunting cloak of shifting fog .
Interior: broken glass lying scattered
across the rhythm of our dress code.
The faintest ripple across the heart
pulsating with searching, lonely eyes .
Stillness: shatters the chain-saw bite
that demands attention to detail.
Reality: the surface is murky black
much brighter than what's inside.
This is a deep poem. I will
This is a deep poem. I will have to ponder it, for awhile.