John Flynn

posted in: Issue 2 | 0

Re-Tooled Nights And Ambiguous Yarns

I have stolen back my thief’s compass
from all the sirens who unmade me.
Wagered my chances at every count
with an eagerness for rapture.
I dug their ditches
left not a clump of dirt
to spoil their silken calculus.
It’s my turn now to take flight.

The dark moves in.
I put down my shovel.
My sweat dimples loam.
Reawakened, energized
I walk alone down a quiet road
pelted with crepuscular scars.

Waking After A One-Nighter

I will make time for history lessons,
study rabbits in high grass,
thank my night sweats
and my death-pilot dreams.
Without them, I’d have never
permitted myself to occupy you
and that other elsewhere a while.

Leave a Reply