August & April
August & April I have no poetry in me. It’s been sucked out by creeping oily blackness and looming anniversaries. My head thrums with a dull ache deep in the lining of my brain, buried in the neurons and electrons that spark anew with each slimy image and watery recollection. Frown lines furrow my forehead as if marked by oil laden wings dragged through the sand. The tic in my left eye jerks like the beat of frantic fists on attic timbers. I have no poetry in me. ~ I started this poem about a week ago and finished it … Continue reading August & April