The Walk

You walk me in


Like a pundit’s bleating cries

you are one bird that sings

that siren’s tune—

the tittering tap-tap-tap

along my weary soul,

drawing back and back again

to dreams of flighted fancy

grounded by the outcry

of your hollow-hearted truth.

Obscenity cannot describe the flesh—

it should not never will be wrought

of heartstrings and absolutions;

caress comes not with claws,

never feathered,

never caged.

You say one day we’ll fly.

Deception waddles

with the crows.

You walk me in


Submitted as part of:


When there is nothing

Before abyss come the clock-tower.

The little boy by midnight asks—

her look, lost in the candlelight—

the nature of empty books lain dormant,

the moonless night above a bridge

when there is nothing left to lose—

in sedimentary smiles she sighs:

when there is nothing

there is love.