Richard H. Dunsany | + Follow Poet |
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Bullet Holes Through a Four-Four Count

Slinger
Waiting on the day
for the Swallow to transmute the air
between this ether and yours 
patterned after an annual bedsheet 
and full of a chest
swelling with blood
and a face 
as forgotten as chests 
buried beneath sea tides, 
legendary rainbows wide
over forgetfulness -- subtle forgetfulness --
collecting material for a nest; a grave, sour
maw of disappearing Now
reappearing in your eyes 
next to anti-eyes
'ere smilin' hell at this faster incompletion.
Tiptoe.

Mirror
Select.   Load?   Holster.   Stalk?   Draw.
"Do you have a moment, Miss Seer? Look what I've drawn."
Bourbon.  Ex-mark.  Tattoos.  Born.  Into
This.
Surreal.   It Does.   Only
Roulette. Hocus Poker.   Reaching      A Final Frontier

Divvy:
 
Brown Eyes 
Coal Eyes 
Wall Sockets 
L.

Fire Tides
Genocides
Suit Pockets
Knell.

Slinger
You perceive a safety I count on
as we all fear we will lose
something
crucial? What is ever crucial if already
revenants bustle chameleon beneath city lights perfectly
regarding lights in wonder with other -- 
revenants.
 
I will appear before you
suddenly in the park
"Eden!"
you will laugh as though subtle darkness is a magic trick
and those anti-eyes will hide true feelings behind laughter
and I will shudder -- I once wore them, too --
and I will perceive these two sets of eyes before me,
Yours and Not Yours,
who cannot tell that this varsity jacket will soon hide more than

Sin. On your face. Syntax; Synonym; Smiling -- Antonym.
Drawn. Holes. Your face -- too memorable -- too 
unforgetful, they dream 
Forever Now. Beyond Sleepy Hollows.

Dying by first light,
living beneath your iron sunsets?
Your red roses kissed blooming
out of your neck?
Forever; Us; Chasms,
Angel.

Mirror
Silence. Darkness. 
Each Day. Random. 
Today? No.

Where 

is 

He?

Copyright © Richard H. Dunsany | Year Posted 2017

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