new poem

Year Of The Reaper

Last September, you jumped
the rafters after
leaving Lorna's with a
tongue of cinder, dark sockets, and
pockets full of tranquilizers.

Outside the emporium, I
cleared quarts with Justin until
your memory scissored me
to the floor, where I
commanded you to come back.

Later, I required medication,
and so the days fell
through me while
death built an engine quietly
in my body.

The Almighty, I learned, is
only a perverted vigilante, a
stranger listening through the door,
rallying vultures when he decides
to knock.