-

The creak of the dam refusing to break

the violet being burned by the sun

The empty field

the lone howl

The quiver of the waves as dark clouds pass

the ordinary preying beneath

The soiled letter

its bobbing bottle

The strobe-light lightning awaking the night

the thunder of breaking tables

The last grain of powder

in the corner of the bag

The skeleton being thrashed by the wind

the pen and paper in the sand

The loudness

of unuttered prayers

The abstract images that visit our dreams

the hum of the real thing underground

the ways that we craft bearable confessions

the veiled way to describe:

the gasp of degradation

of grovelling at your own feet

saying

"I should have treated you better"

and receiving no reply

Author's Note

Sep. '16