poem: Honesty at night

At 3 am, my thoughts inevitably

turn to you. Something happens

in moonlight. Dark heat rises like

steam from pavement, and I am

feasting upon a diminishing bowl

of false propriety. A woman dying

of thirst, presented a well of 30

feet, and a rope of 25. At these

moments, the only restraint may

be measurable distance between

houses. Were you here, I would

demonstrate what eternity meant

when it told the night: prepare to

be devoured in pieces, so that the

whole comes to life, birthed in its

own searing audacity, covered

with the fluids of its first arrival.

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

I think "searing audacity" covers it quite nicely, thank you. This is searing in its own right, but the honesty shines through as well--it's forthright and clear-eyed, with no unseemly weepiness to dull the message and its power. It is always a joy and privilege to read your work.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you, kortas, for recognizing this piece for what it is. Always such a great gift to have your words upon my page.