The Flat Night

What are the stars but points
in the body of God where we insert
the healing needles of our terror and longing?

Thomas Pynchon, “Gravity’s Rainbow”

What is an ocean corrupted by oil
but a counterfeit night sky without stars?

An abyss with no distance or wishes—
the blackness of a coal mine smothering
a canary then turning to liquid
and spreading itself out for us as if
proud of itself wanting us to dive in—
boats float on it but sailors imagine
their boats dying like birds being smothered.

*

We watch the sunrise,
feel terror in the new light,
long for the real night.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .



“Sexy As The Dead Bridges”


Is This A Junkyard Church


Shanghai In The Epipelagic Layer


A Shadow Too Dark For Atlantis




Modern Romance In The Noir