Thursday, May 02, 2013

Brother Death, won't you walk with me?

The path through the forest is dark.
A bony hand is more comfort than no hand at all.

The rapids roar with white spray.
Your teeth gleam beside me.

The path winds through a tight gut of stone.
Click, clack, say your fingers.

Sun glows on the peak of the mountain before us.
Sparks in the eternal night of your eyesocket.

The angels are arguing about whether I should go on.
You stand silent and motionless.

I drink emptiness from the bowl of the moon.
You have taken the unfinished book from my hand.

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside

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