Demon Eyes

At night, from a distance, stoplights channel demons.
Eyes glaring red threaten to pierce my soul.
They smolder in the distance, looks of rage
undo my calm, until at last
we drive past.

Night Drive

is the name of a song that a friend of mine wrote
and in it he spoke of the road, and how it helped him forget.
Dark. Empty. Eternal. Unassuming. Unpresumptive.
It swallows all of our darkness, our sadness, our emptiness.
It devours all of our failings, our fallings, our foolishness.
Ingesting shadows, with no contract for return.
We take them back, of course, when the sun rises red,
and the road lights up with a thousand souls.
We have to, really. To be human.

Sun Cycle (Final Edit?)

The sun will set forever
As it falls every night into dusk.
No matter the strength of the weather,
Like clockwork, it falls as it must.

It will sink every night into dusk
Tearing a rift in the sky as it flees.
Like clockwork, it falls as it must,
Tunneling through the horizon with ease.

Tearing a rift in the sky as it flees
It drops behind mountain ridge blades.
It tunnels through the horizon with ease
As the earth’s final bugle is played.

It drops behind mountain ridge blades,
Yet a birthday cake candle burns bright;
And the earth’s final bugle is played
Just before someone blows out the light.

And a birthday cake candle burns bright
As the planet is shaken by weather.
The Son of God blows out the light
On the day that the sun sets forever.

Table Hockey

Cuts
back and forth.
William Shatner on potassium.
Pity pecker presses
the agendas. She wants apple pie

But
wait a tic
her finger ringed suggests this wedding
is the girls, not unlike
the dresses, flowers, or her hair.

Pie?
Apple pie.
But Mrs. Roberts, I would really
I mean—traditional...
We—Joe and I—would like a cake

This is a Good Episode

The TV chatters away like some engaging aunt.
Submarines dive to crush depth.
Gunfire erupts
and cools
and erupts
and cools
like some unstable Hawaiian mountain of fire.
This is a good episode.
The TV is actually a computer
in the library
because I can’t afford the
Comcast service package and
even if I could
I’d rather not.
It’s quiet in here.
Students study on the couches.
Students study on the computers next to me.
I’ve gone over the signs thoroughly
to ensure that I’m allowed
to use these facilities to my own ends
and I can.
(I prepare myself for the inevitable,
the part where I explain/lie about how
my current media class requires such and such
It’s a good speech).
Just now, a character breaks down in tears.
Holy shit.
This is a good episode.

Sun Cycle: or, The End of the World (+ New Version)

The sun sets forever
In the mountains it sinks
Through all kinds of weather
It neither sleeps nor thinks

In the mountains it sinks
through the rocks and the trees
It neither sleeps or thinks
In the dark mountain's teeth

Through the rocks and the trees
Through all kinds of weather
In the dark mountain's teeth
When the sun sets forever

NEW VERSION!

Sun Cycle: or, The End of the World

The sun will set forever
At the end of each day it will sink
No matter the strength of the weather
Like clockwork, while gazing eyes blink

At the end of each day it will sink
Through cloud forms and rocks and through seas
Like clockwork, while gazing eyes blink
The sun tears a rift in the breeze

Through cloud forms and rocks and through seas
It drops behind mountain ridge blades
The sun tears a rift in the breeze
Tomorrow’s beginning to fade

It drops behind mountain ridge blades
And a birthday cake candle burns bright
Tomorrow’s beginning to fade
As if someone just blew out the light

And a birthday cake candle burns bright
As my body is slammed by the weather
The Son of God blows out the light
On the day that the sun sets forever

Against You, Too (with new version!)

"Rage, rage against the dying of the light"
This is the way the words in the book lie.
My thanks, Dylan Thomas, for freeing me. Too
often am I stuck in sap, sickly sweet. I pine
away the last days on an arid steppe
Comforted only by this book's leaves.

The bones of the earth crunch--the sun drops like a bowling ball, leaving
no sign that it ever was. All that remains is the moon's dim light,
and the hope (so small) that when I take the last step
towards salvation, I will not stumble into a lie.
The dying of the light comes to tree, to pine.
It rages against you, too.

---

Against Us, Too

“Rage, rage against the dying of the light”
I consider the way that the words in the book lie,
and wonder how much he knew—Dylan Thomas, I mean—
about the death of light. I wonder if he knew
of the passing from visible to infrared.
Of wavelength, nanometers, amplitude.
An uncanny shift; a bloom to a bud,
a dusk to a dawn. What was he really raging against?

I don’t have the heart in me to summon fire.
I spend instead the world’s final day on an arid steppe
comforted only by the letters here assembled.
No matter how long I read, how strained my thoughts are,
the bones of the Earth crunch—the sun drops like a bowling ball,
leaving no sign that it ever was. I rise by the moon’s aluminum light,
with only the hope (so small) that when I take the last step
towards salvation, I will not stumble into a lie.
The world dips into darkness, but gathering breath,
with book in hand and hand over heart,
I cross the edge between earth and sky
and fall.

The end of the light comes to oak, to pine.
It rages against us, too.