oh i posted this late late late.

Poem for W.S.

Today I cringed at the light like a drunk.
The flowers bared their teeth at me.
I was afraid of bricks in the red towers,
gravestones, and clock
faces. Oh everything used to have a spirit guard once
with a terrible face and hands that gripped their instruments.
The black sea raged for its libations.
Now our only company is death
waiting unpersoned where the lamplight ends.
Prostrate, the black river
licks its banks, dispersing light. I move in close
and disappear.