Sunday, April 5, 2020

Lookout Mountain

Sometimes it’s better not to sing

Body bag beside the curb in Topanga Canyon
Dusty mailbox with the flag snapped off.
Cracked wooden sign warning of worms ahead
Polka dots wobbling through the fog

Stripes that disappear into a wall of skin
Up that steep winding road lined with gold
Mouth stuffed with velvety petals

Silver flashes in the asphalt
Bronze flecks in her 
colorless eyes
She opened her mouth
and nothing came out

All the trees fell at the same time
All the fence slats, all the ladder rungs,
a sluggish river of honey flowing
between chunks of concrete

Shredded tonsils
Shuttered donut shops
Cans of coconut water on
a stump for target practice
Crawl space stuffed to the brim
with jonquils

I woke up in a sweat
on a lumpy mattress in the guest house
pit and the pendulum
Reached for a cigarette

Angry hummingbirds alighting on dead sticks
squealing and hissing like snakes
A manhole cover hiding a beauty mark

Rusty gates, twisting tendrils of iron
Unicorn mane, ribbons snapping in the breeze

Sometimes it’s better to keep that song to yourself

No comments:

Post a Comment