Your body is an ocean.
Deep below,
under crushing pressure,
a volcanic fissure spits fire
and bloody light reveals
monsters writhing in mortal combat,
while miles above,
your fleeting smile
is a sailboat
on stalled waters.
12/11/08 2am
[Previously published on: Apr 5, 2013 @ 02:00 ]
101°
Glenn Gould plays Bach
as I step on that distant shore.
Handing my coppers to the boatman,
I look up the bank for you
among the crowd
scanning the new arrivals for
old friends
to lead across the fields
when the dog barks —
1 head, not 3 —
I’m not dead yet,
as Charon’s ferry folds
into the sofa,
where I shiver
in fevered dreams
between two worlds
not ready for either. mjh
first published 3/9/05
Listen to 101°
My Virtual Chapbook (table of contents)
my old friend
is worried about me
coughing roughly
deep in the night
he stands by the bed
searching my face
for a cue
a clue to my
senseless barking
barking
he paces the floor
for hours
he sniffs my hand
ingesting my malady
to concoct the cure
which he administers
in slow soft licks;
“be well, old friend
the pack is with you.”
and I am well again. mjh
3/17/2005
Listen to the cure
My Virtual Chapbook (table of contents)