Chances

The world is slow, turning through time.
Moonlight- luminous worm
Emptied into a distance,
Night sky empties its darkness
Into a you or me; a red sleep, I do not believe it.

The day is so poor suddenly,
Bare trees, a face, a mouth: black fingers in dirt
Ordering a growth in a cold earth;
The moles roar in my ears-
Echoes, echoes, am I a pulse?

I remember the minute, the wind was chilling
My face with its terrible look,
Coming at me with a meaning,
I saw the world in it- mean and dark,
Regarded me with attention.

And I said something, so dark suddenly,
Is this death coming at me?
It glided by- I felt the world in it,
I wasn’t ready for it. I had no reverence.
It touched me like a child carrying emptiness.

I have had my chances, all stitched into me
Like a rare organ; and I walked carefully
Like something scared; I thought too hard.
Looking through the thick dark perfect,
Jealous of anything- flattened soul.

I am dumb in my dead self, and it is sullen;
An eternity engulfs it; like a big sea,
It swallowed me like an instrument.
I should have murdered this- the horrors stand,
Licking corrosive rain. The dark earth drinks it.

I shall move, I cannot contain it;
My shadow is not a man: blunt, flat leaking
Into cracks- who will understand,
Who will love me? So predictable, so transparent.
Hands clasped, suddenly. I will recover.

Copyright © 12/06/18 lance sheridan®

Chances

Advertisements