We Are Only Children Then -To: LMR

I’ve decided I’m not a great commentator. So, Instead of comments, I will begin posting poems. That I’ve written. I hope no one tries to claim them as their own. I’m not making any money off this, I just like to write. Thanks, and this is the first one:


We are only children then and drifting in
the back seat of the family car.
as blue & orange neon, tungsten
red & green, and brilliant halogens
whirling-dervish past us fade
into darkness all around. I have a sister and
we are only children. drifting
in the astral seas of youth & language.

“Look” her hand says at the moon.
“Someone must of smacked him with
a rabbit cross’t his face to hush him quiet.
so that night could still be.

and so that mysteries coud still outreach us.”

We count the stars
apart from us and lonely.
“Eighty” ignorant and pretty.
“Eighty-one!” unique.
“Eighty-two!” predictable and lifeless.
“Eighty-three!” oblivious to reason.
Of that we take both leave and notice
nodding off.
But sleep’s one fault is that it so resembles death.

supernal freight trains like an earthquake shake the sky.
The roar of jet-black jaguars tears the hush-hush
fleshy shroud of sleep
from off us. scattered.
terrified & violent
shadows. schizophrenic fractures split
like spider’s lace across the opaque,
transparency of night.
Then trickle off like rain.
So easily a pebble strikes a windowpane.
the vessels shatter.
My sister wails “What happened!”

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