The onslaught of fall,
young eyes watch leaves tumble down,
"quick mom, more scotch tape."
my devil spoke to an undescribed liar
hidden between foggy words and soupy meanings.
evil got so confused, it ended up doing right
and the liar's speech made it seem fine.
my devil spoke to a dead ex-president
(a Nixon, or a Grant, or an Eisenhower)
and he got so confused he couldn't tell
the past from the present.
my devil spoke to a new-born man,
dying of a caffeine overdose,
and he got so confused between
tragedy and work.
and work and life.
evil got so confused it told me good;
and my devil got so confused
he began to cry,
and i held my devil like a father would,
and said, "there, there."
Reflecting on a Bridge-
It all seems shaky to me,
height and altitude towering
over traveling, watery pictures
of me filled with protruding
columns, like upside-down legs
surrendering to the sky.
I remember that I used to
measure distance in "light years"
of safety; like we're eight-minutes
safe from the sun, as we stand
on gravity's legs. I am 3/8 milliseconds
safe from that crystal water.
But as I stand down
the height of the bridge,
the light bouncing back between
me and the water, I wonder,
"who is this 'light year' protecting,
me or my reflection?"
silent touch of lips.
one million words not spoken
Like what you read? Want to contribute? Send your stories, screenplays and poetry to DigiZine