Wednesday, August 27, 2008

A Firefly's

Growling around the tire treads in the dead
cold mist shrivels up my fingers and
their tips but this secret
splayed and spliced moment can't stop itself

It howls like wind
water werewolves in cotton sweaters
poly-cotton blended and just
as scared as you or me
when they take a look at
the stars that don't pepper the sky
under clouds
the dead cold clouds of mist
threaten the moment's agency in
a most urgent pass
a wishful thought
a wishful thinking

I've noticed gerund
more than I've meant to
although I don't necessarily know the definition
of a night without stars or a day without clouds
The two meet on strapless holidays
showing up with honey-baked hams or
candied yams
to ring the doorbell
holding hands
with forced smiles and language
spoken through shifting
eyes as unloved relative opens
the door cutting a hole in the home
The smell of the unmoved leaks and the stairs
creak when Uncle Drunk trips down
wisdom loaded into his father's favorite pistol
He aims high into the sky and shoots down the stars with a whiskey smile sewn to his face
Lightningbug lungs shutter frantic laughter before
giving up to die.

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