The Darkness Inside this Poem
is not about you. It’s not even really about darkness.
It is only about the absence of foreseeable light.
I say this again and again: I don’t want to stick
my head in the oven. I don’t want to carry rocks
in my pockets just in case the confluence of river
and despair eddy together. The reason I like guns
is because they understand the meaning of hiding
with their heolstors and their black holes in their bellies.
The darkness in this poem is zero zero zero.
It is a pale woman practicing chiaroscuro modeling
before a group of bored students.
It is a yin in the valley. The mountain rising in the moon.
It is the second-to-last plague. The weeping
and gnashing of teeth.
It is the carrion crow, the black dog in the night,
the shadow of the stalker with the black-bladed knife.
The darkness in this poem is a many-headed beast
with jaws that can devour only love.
This poem isn’t even about the darkness
that isn’t about you. This poem is the
word blood bone box that I build every morning,
that I lock with the bone finger of my sorry
and carry with the wings of determination,
that I bury beneath the sea of seas.
This poem is the cage
the darkness goes in when you are near
and the darkness gets hungry
and opens its love-eating jaws.
Image: Taken with iPhone.
Words inspired by this poem.
Time Taken 5 minutes?
Brain on sugar cereal, Borderlands, the value of communication.