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.
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.