twilight’s transition

i dip my fingers
into dusk to paint
the skies in vivid
pink flashes of
simmering surrender
waving white flags
in accumulated cumulus
to dispense with this
parody of helping hands
tearing pounds of
sweaty flesh they
have no right to claim
just for the piece
of mind given unto
war time tirades
from the diminutive
voice that fired
the first shots into
the peaceful morning
of self introspection
would be angels leaving
a trail of scales where
their cloven hooves
strike the bare earth

i pen my words at
twilight’s transition
and the witching hour
where sleep and dream
are mirages dancing on
the ceiling of stars
whispering to her
all of things that were
lodged in my throat
throughout the long day
walking around downtown
telling the soft pink
flowers growing between
lanes of frozen traffic
of the sunshine gleaming
from her soul through
her shimmering wonder
never once thinking of
the callous serpents
pretending to be saints
nipping at my worn vans
as i carry my burdens
into the perdition where
my vagabond spirit will
never truly know rest


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