Short Sooted Poems

strange how the day shuts down, suddenly bleak,
as when the dawn crested three-quarters past six.
cumbersome eyelids befriend pen and ink —
outline of skinny trees, lack of stars,
hush’d homes — fig leaves do not hide them.
visible neighbors smoking chimneys.
the sooted smell of winterscape
as she falls fast asleep.

12/18/2019...

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Focus me to the horizon
Let the clouds slip into my nostrils
Let me inhale the deep pools of carbon life

I start to loll
As I forget what watches are
The strange figure in the dark sooted suit walking on the brook
I sit in my chair in my room and imagine him
I’m traveling far distances

The mind mells with Moorish determination
I beg for focus 
Tauting the mast...

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