Shadows of Tomorrow
for Daniel Dumile
He’s dead. He has been
for a long time. The sky is low and grey.
The burial mound looks like a highway. Hovering in the fog
the UFOs look like hospital floodlights.
Along the riverbank, the haunted houses look
like home. I am bleeding.
One day, I think
I might want to die.
They Were Just Shapes
​
People are showing up mutilated
in the parks, he said. In the breeze
he and the other man approached
shapes in the dark. Call me crazy, but
lately it feels like someone wants me to
bide my time. Gaining ground
on me, I could smell his saliva
when he spoke. And
they still haven’t found
what killed my friend.
Full-Throated Tongues
Another nest at the edge of
everything. I wake up in the splinters of
the morning to strange music. The neighbors
watch me through the window while I read.
All the dead voices.
They make a noise like wings.
If hope is the thing with feathers
why can't I look it in its eye?
How can something so empty hold
a song like that? What is it?
Singing for singing’s sake
building just to build?
​
I guess so.
​