one poem
in a quiet room
beneath an indifferent sky
the empty fields that define
the season of loss
these are only words
diane
and you are only a stranger i
pretend to know
it’s the lack of sound
that frightens me
the wind maybe
or a distant siren
or the kitten curled up and purring gently
on the edge of the desk
my son’s toys
without his tiny perfect hands
to move them
and it’s been four days now since
the planes stopped flying
since my fingers felt the need
to crawl across
a blank sheet of paper
and do you notice that the
clocks haven’t stopped?
do you believe
in selfless acts?
not anymore
we have moved beyond the
age of famous poets
diane
and into the era
of glorified killers
my wife wants love
and all i give her
is despair
the neighbors scream at
their children
the children run
blindly into traffic
even these small deaths are
important
when they are all we have
to call our own
