it is happening again

all the lights are going out

phantoms rising up

through the sewers

vents of manholes

like pale and quavering anthers

searching for stable waters

cresting the sooty, indignant waves

the night comes again,

the lights go out in a dark street.but the moth is here in my hand

in my hand, it is here

just there, towards the bend

the purpling vein

the cuticle slice

a wide pulse of wings

which will never cease

seizuring impossibly

towards the separate, intangible light

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s